The Virus of Life
by Rice Queen
Summary: Human-verse. Ozzy is determined to put the crime lord Thrax behind bars, whatever it takes. But along the way he begins to see the man in a new light. Dark themes. Rated M for references to drugs and prostitution, sex, and violence. Ozzy/Thrax.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Okay, so this is my second story posted and the first one for a long time. The next few chapters will be longer; my aim is at least 4k per, but... well, we'll see. This is long overdue, and I have most of it planned out, so I hope it gets pleased readers. There isn't a lot of fics for this fandom in particular, so... yes. Enjoy!

I should also mention ahead of time, I will put warnings at the top of every chapter that contains anything some readers might find offensive. This story will be have mature content, but I will be sure to say so!

**DISCLAIMER:** None of these characters are, or ever will be mine. I am putting this in the first chapter only; as that is the one all people read first. Or, at least I do.

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Officer Ozzy Jones was having the worst day. It was the kind where the Fates work against you and karma is a bitch. As _Bruce Almighty_ would have said, "God has taken his bird and his bush."

It had started that way too, which was only putting salt on the wound. He should have seen it coming, really. His alarm went off at 5 a.m. on his day off; he'd forgotten he didn't work the next day. Unable to go back to sleep, Ozzy had headed for the kitchen. To his extreme displeasure, he found out he had officially run out of coffee. And to top his morning off, he'd poured cereal before remembering he was out of milk. So yeah, it was safe to say things weren't going to get better.

The rebel cop had rubbed his eyes tiredly, distracted by the chilled tiles beneath his feet. He had been about to go get dressed when the door was knocked on rather obnoxiously. Sauntering over, he peeked through the peep hole, closing one eye and squinting. It was his landlord and personal Hell, Mr. Stevens. The man was disgusting in every aspect, from looks down to the core of his personality. Ozzy opened the door with a creak, trying his best to look guilty. His landlord started off by yelling obscenities at him, spittle flying from his mouth with each syllable. The cop supposed it wasn't the man's fault he was so repulsive. His whole name was Carl Stevens, a failed businessman who now worked at the local fast food restaurant and probably made more money than the cop. He spoke in nasal tones, and coughed as only a life-long smoker can. His hair was greying and thin, and where it didn't cover greasy from lack of showers. If the building itself didn't reek, he could easily have filled the gap with his lack of hygiene. If he was being entirely honest with himself, Ozzy would have said he hated this man. But it wasn't in his nature to hate people, and so he held his tongue on this matter.

"Are you listening to me, boy? Two weeks overdue!"

Oh, right. He was being reprimanded. The man smelled like stale beer.

"This is your last warning! I mean it Oz, last warning!"

One of his teeth was missing too. Ozzy debating making him lose another.

"Pay. Your. Rent. You've worn me thin!"

Really? Because it actually looked like he'd gained a few pounds.

"You have two days!"

Mr. Stevens left then, with one stern finger shake and a hateful glare, he stumbled away. Ozzy closed the door and put the chain lock back in place automatically. There was hardly much to keep safe, but it was reflex. He ran a hand through is hair and groaned, closing his eyes. Two days to come up with last months rent, and then a week for this months. Shit. Did no one have respect for the law keepers anymore? Apparently not. With a sigh, he went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. Half a loaf of bread, a can of Pepsi and a carton of expired orange juice. It would appear he was eating out again.

In today's economy, it was cheaper to eat fast food, but that didn't mean it wasn't expensive. Ever since the mayor had been elected the city had fallen under hard times. Everyone was affected from the low to high class citizens. Times were hard, and poverty was no rarity in the City of Frank. Not even the crime world was left untouched.

There were two main crime lords in Frank; the Nex gang run by Thrax, and the Mac's, run by Variola. Both dabbled in gambling, alcohol, prostitution, and everything else under the table. But more recently, they were becoming bolder, with public shootings and more bodies in more conspicuous places. They didn't seem to care that the police were making a big deal of it; they considered themselves immune to the law, and it was this that made the citizens doubt their police reliability. Each crime committed was a big slap to their faces, and the newspaper was all over it.

Ozzy had been a higher ranking officer before he screwed up majorly. There was a hostage situation at a bank; a quick snatch and run plan gone wrong. He had been taking out borrowed money from his best friend when it happened. The criminal had held a gun to a woman's head, and screamed he would shoot if anyone moved. Of course the police were already on their way, but Ozzy was never one to wait patiently. He had watched the man carefully for several minutes, and he was clearly unstable. Shaking uncontrollably, there was no question in his mind that the man was going to pull the trigger, accident or no. So he shot the guy square in the chest.

He still remembered the scream of the woman and the sound of blood splattering a marble floor. It wasn't something a person could just forget.

So, despite the fact that no hostages were harmed, eye witnesses claimed he had shot for poor reasons, and the judgment began. The chief had immediately demoted him and took away most of his privileges. It had been a shock for him, but clearly not to his co-workers. They teased him mercilessly for his rank loss, and instantly gained a bad rep with the force. And so, his tiny rebellion began.

That had been several years ago now, and at the age of 24, he was ready to get back on his feet. Which was an issue, as his pay had been cut by order of the mayor, who deemed the city 'safe' and 'without flaw'. Of course this was bullshit, as anyone with eyes could see. He was a big problem for the city, but gangs were to. The cases he was so often assigned to were those of gang activity. Chief Silver had deemed him able to work on these cases specifically, as Ozzy had somewhat personal experience that only he was privy to. Having grown up in the slums of Frank on the East Side, he knew more about gangs from witnessing events to overhearing rumours. It would have been out of the question due to it being a compromising issue for the reports and actions taken, but Silver was short staffed. As much as Ozzy annoyed him to no end, there was no question he would do what he wanted either way.

So, with lack of money in his wallet and bank virtually empty, Ozzy was forced to call in favours from a friend. But he was tired of living off of other people, like a piece of vermin or parasite. He wanted to cut his own path, even if it meant trouble. It was time he made something of himself, he knew. And what better way to do that then to shut down the gangs in Frank?

Ozzy tossed out the orange juice and went to his room. It was simple and almost monkish, with a single bed and a simple bedside table. A pale blue dressed he had hauled up from the dumpster so long ago had been restored and now held his few clothes. Slipping off his pajamas, he tugged on a pair of black pants while simultaneously slipping a belt through the loops. Next came a white t-shirt and gun harness, which he loosened slightly. He had been working out more recently, and new muscle was beginning to make his clothes tighter. Ozzy pulled his shoes on and grabbed his wallet, keys, and jacket as he left the apartment. Off to the café it was.

Upon reaching Central Perk, Ozzy purchased a blueberry muffin and a large coffee. He inhaled the rich aromas of baking and was about to bite into his breakfast when his cell buzzed. Slightly annoyed, the cop maneuvered his muffin into the same hand as his coffee, and answered his cell.

"Hey, Ozzy here, what's up?"

"It's Silver. Listen. There's been a shooting."

"It's the Nex, isn't it?"

After receiving the necessary place of the crime, Ozzy shoved his food into his pocket and took a big gulp of scalding black coffee. It burned unpleasantly on the way down, but now it wouldn't overflow as he ran the two blocks to the crime scene. His car was currently out of commission. Knowing that he might catch the bastard, or at least get some kind of useful evidence to aid in his capture, made his heart beat faster. The cop had always had a need for pursuit, even if it was against impossible odds.

He arrived at the scene in good time, breathing harshly and leaning on his knees to catch his breath. His black leather jacket trapped his body heat inside, which wasn't always a good thing. "Hey man, what took you so long?" Reese, a good friend of Ozzy's clapped him on the back, a grin on his freckled face. "Ugh, Reese, just don't even…" the shorter cop sighed, and inhaled deeply before straightening, looking at the area in front of him. "Alright, take it easy man. Look, let me catch you up to speed, alright?" The man's grin faded gradually as he led Ozzy to the crime scene. He lifted the yellow 'Caution' tape and slid underneath, nodding to the cops who made sure no civilians entered. Ozzy followed and ignored the looks of disdain he was given, squaring his shoulders as he walked.

The shooting had been quick, albeit a shock to the passersby. On one of the busiest streets, a man by the name of Douglas Morrison had been shot in the head, killing him instantly. The sidewalk he had been killed on was now vacant, though it would have been crowded so early in the morning. It was somewhat of a central street; and a bus stop rested not ten feet from where he'd fallen. Morrison had been a dealer for the Nex, but it was clear he had overstayed his welcome. Ozzy looked at the corpse with intense brown eyes, sprawled and laying in a pool of crimson.

"So what happened?" He asked, pulling on a pair of white latex gloves Reese offered him. Normally he was the intel gatherer, but on rare occasions he was allowed to deal with the bodies. "From what witnesses say, he looked troubled. The guy probably knew what was coming; making a break for it. Or trying to anyway. The splatter-" he pointed out some key places as he spoke "-suggests that he was shot at point blank range. Probably a 9mm, but we won't know for sure until the other guys get here." He sighed and knelt down beside Ozzy, looking at the cops face for signs of his thoughts. "What are you thinking about?" Ozzy glanced at Reese for a mere second, before standing and looking around. "Are there any cameras around that would've caught this on tape?" As he spoke he saw one in the corner of a building entrance, and at the same time Reese answered yes, and that they were currently being acquired. The rebel cop nodded his approval, and determination creased his brow. "This was Thrax, there's nothing else to it. And this time we've got tapes to prove it. That bastard is going down."

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Meanwhile, the criminal lord in question sat reclined in his favourite leather chair. The room was darkened by black curtains; the only light source a small table lamp and the television. It was a well-furnished room, with hardwood floors and expensive décor all the way through. His face remained impassive, as he watched the live news cast from where he'd been less than an hour ago. The reporter, Leah Estrogen, spoke quickly and with clarity, always to the point and forever attempting to make things interesting.

Thrax was about to change the channel when an officer was asked the question, "Who did this?" The man was intriguing to the crime lord for reasons he couldn't explain. He seemed to weigh the question before answering, and when he did there was defiance in his voice that sparked his interest.

"This was the work of Thrax," he said seriously, looking at the reporter with something akin to anger. Another man in the background, a lanky fellow with red hair and freckles, was attempting to discreetly shut the cop up. He whispered something in the cops ear, and the shorter one shrugged him away. "The aristocrat? There have been similar accusations, Mr. Jones." Leah raised a fine black eyebrow, her violet eyes intrigued by this inside information. "What makes you think it really is him? Do you have evidence?" Mr. Jones, as Thrax knew him, opened his mouth to answer when the taller man pulled him out of camera view and stepped in. "At this time, it is too early to say who did it and what their motives were. All we can say with certainty is that this was no accident."

Thrax watched the background instead of the two people talking, his attention stolen by the cop who had spoken first. He was running a hand through his hair, looking distressed and tired. The crime lord took a sip of his scotch. The amber liquid went down his throat smoothly, the ice clinking against the polished glass. He smirked and turned off the television as he stood. Perhaps it would be a good idea to pay a visit to this officer of Frank.

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Nex is short for Rutilus Nex, which means "Read Death" in Latin; I figured it was an appropriate name for Thrax's gang.  
Also, Variola is an OC of mine, and that is the technical term for Small Pox. His gang is called Mac, short for Mactabolis. The names are pretty cliche, but I like them.

**A/N:** Alright, so there is the first and smallest installment I know I put Ozzy in a more serious mood... but I promise it will get better. Reviews of course are always encouraging, but not necessary. Though it would make me want to update faster.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Here you go guys. Sorry, it's a re-post of chapter 2 but with more stuff. Nothing is changed except the addition of more content. The other one was too short and I couldn't live with myself knowing I'd lied. So here.

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Ozzy sighed inwardly, looking longingly at his blueberry muffin. It was perfect in every way. The berries were a dark violet, the contrast great against the evenly cooked pastry. He began salivating, but was forced to look away. Damn Reese and his long explanations. The guy could literally talk your ears off. Ozzy took a gulp of his coffee, making a face at the now cold drink.

"-as going to be there. But because that footprint is angled-"

"Reese!"

The redhead stopped his ramble, which was mostly incoherent to Ozzy anyway. Reese looked up at the shorter cop from his position on the ground. He held his Nikon carefully, his spidery fingers clutching it like a mother would her newborn. He sniffed and a slight flush of embarrassment dusted his cheeks, his wire glasses slipping down his narrow nose.

After dragging Ozzy away from the reporters, he'd been exasperated; more for Ozzy's job than the leaking of information. Reese knew that the chief had Ozzy on a thin line, and the second he crossed it, whether Silver wanted to or not, he had to deal with the consequences. So, he'd prattled on and on about how it wasn't by the book, and what sort of trouble the rebel cop could get into for things like this. During his tirade, Ozzy went to interrupt him. As he did so, the cop almost stepped on a key piece of evidence. Almost. Still, it was enough to send Reese on a furious tangent that turned into a forensics lecture. Much to Ozzy's displeasure.

"Right, sorry, I know this stuff doesn't interest you. I just thought-" "No, no! It's fine. But that's-" Ozzy cut himself off, as he had done to Reese only a second before. He had been in the middle of a non-committal shrug when he saw a car out of the corner of his eye. No, not just a car. It was a Saleen S7 in all its glory, painted a vibrant red that set the suns rays to shame. It was worth more than Ozzy would make in the fifty years, if things kept going the way they were. But there was something else that stole his attention from the car with surprising ease. The driver.

It was a man, a tall man by the looks of things. He sat leaned back in an easy sort of way, one arm resting casually on the sill of the car window. A smirk graced his lips, dark yellow eyes looking straight at him. Ozzy tensed under the gaze, but was unable to stop staring. The man seemed amused by this, and he tossed his head back as he slipped black Bentley sunglasses on. Much like chocolate, the mans skin was tight over high cheekbones, a silver ear piercing in view by way of contrast. His hair had been tied back; the black tendrils in numerous small braids.

And then Ozzy saw it.

A black chain necklace, small gemstones resting in each socket.

The chain was rumored to be worth the most out of all pieces of jewelry in the world. It was made from black metal, coming from somewhere in India. The jewels themselves were blue garnet, one of the rarest and most priceless of all gemstones. They were supposed to appear violet in the dark and a dazzling blue in the light; something to do with their properties. Ozzy had never seen one before, but its theft was one of legend.

It had happened only a few years ago, five or six, and the chain was being transported from its origin in Russia to a high bidder in Britain. The plane it was being carried on went out of control and crash-landed in the mountains. The entire flight crew was dead by impact. Not on impact. By impact. They had been murdered, but no one knew by who. Of course with all the snow and treacherous land, it had been difficult to get to the plane in a hurry. The safe deposit box with the chain had been stolen, and no one knew who had done it.

Not long after that, rumors surfaced of a crime gang called the Nex, and that their leader had done it. Sure enough, photos were snapped and evidence was secured that he had indeed stolen it. He wore it blatantly for the most part; no longer afraid of the law. Which meant…

Ozzy choked on his breathe and coughed violently, wrenching his eyes away from the man. His eyes watered slightly, but he composed himself quickly after Reese gave him a sip of bottled water. "You okay?" He asked, concerned for his friends well being. "Yeah, sorry, just got distracted. Dry throat. So, uh, as I was saying…" but the truth was Ozzy couldn't remember what he was saying. The words lost to his swimming thoughts, swarmed with everything he knew about Thrax.

He chanced another glance.

The Saleen was still there.

"Reese, I gotta run. When you're ready to pack up, give me a call. I'll come with you to the department." Reese nodded his assent to the request, and although he looked as though he wanted to say something against it, he let it slide. The co-workers waved goodbye as Ozzy headed towards the blazing red car. He felt his gun holster for comfort; he was about to meet one of the biggest crime lords around.

* * *

Thrax watched the cop approach with relish. The man was shorter than he looked on TV, but smaller in terms of muscle mass too. His hair was cut short; the perfect length to be gelled into spikes or slicked back for formal effect. He walked confidently, but his eyes reflected only wariness. The cop had his hand in his pocket, no doubt resting on the gun he so wanted to use.

Actually, Thrax was surprised he hadn't shot him yet.

But he had in fact counted on the fact that the cop was far too curious to do anything of the like. The guy was probably scared out of his mind, Thrax decided, but his need to know what was up would surpass the feelings of fear.

The cop came right up to the window, much to the crime lord's amusement. He blocked the sun, the smell of cheap coffee and leather hanging over him. "Thrax." It was a statement, and there was no questioning that. "Ah, so you do know me. By the way you were staring, I would have thought you were analyzing me. But really it was just intrigue on your part." The comment had the desired affect, and pink dusted the cops face. "I knew who you were. Thrax, you're under ar-" "Come now, Mr. Jones, do you really want to do that?" The speaker looked at him from over his shades, golden eyes peering into deep brown.

Ah, so easy to read.

"If you arrest me now, you won't get to know what information I have to offer."

Ozzy seemed to consider this, his eyebrows creasing as he thought. Why on earth would Thrax give any information to the police? And him, of all people? Maybe it wasn't him… maybe he just happened to be in the right place at the right time. Thrax watched the man in hidden intrigue; watching the cops mental battle was proving to be entertaining. His fists clenched periodically and he breathed through his nose a little too much each second that went by. When Thrax shot him a smirk of victory, Ozzy glared angrily and slammed his hand on the roof of the car as he leaned closer to the window gap. "Listen, you are a virus to this city. I plan on kicking your ass on my own time. What do you want?" The crime lord's smirk widened, and he sighed dramatically, reaching into his trench coat. Ozzy tensed and pulled out his gun, pointing it discreetly at the man. No passerby's needed to know about it.

The crime lord stiffened on the inside, but his face betrayed none of his slight tension. Instead, he looked as though he might roll his eyes and slowly pulled his hand from inside his jacket. A small white card was held between his long fingers, the motion fluid and crisp. "Oh, you really should relax. You would think you didn't trust me." Thrax smiled at the cop, who seemed flustered by the action and embarrassed he had taken his gun from its holster. Keeping his weapon in one hand, he looked at the card with apprehension. "What's this all about?" The suspicion had been expected, of course. No sane officer of the law would just accept something from a gang leader, particularly the Nex leader. "I'm inviting you to a little… get-together I'm having. You seem to think you have this all sorted out, so we'll have to see." He reached out to give the card to the cop, who grabbed his arm in a tight grip and snarled, "You can go fuck yourself."

It took only a heartbeat for Thrax's entire demeanor to change from languid to predatory. His eyes narrow as he spoke; tersely and with purpose. "I would advise you to accept this kindness I'm offering. I seldom give it; especially to the cowards like you who think they have control of everything." The lord leaned out the window and put his face closer to the cops, their breath meeting between them. "Do not test me, Mr. Jones. You are disposable as garbage to me, much like Morrison, as you've seen." Ozzy's eyes widened, but held their defiance as he tightened his grip on the arm in front of him. Thrax reached into his jacket, and Ozzy tensed as the man slipped the card into his pocket, eyes never leaving the cops.

"These are deep and dangerous waters you swim, Mr. Jones. I suggest you tread carefully."

With that, the sleek red car was in motion, and Ozzy lost his grip. Not before being pulled forward slightly however, falling flat on his stomach, gun flying from his hand and skidding to a halt a few feet in front of him. The cars black windows rolled up and then it turned a corner, and disappeared into everyday traffic.

Licking his suddenly dry lips, Ozzy stood and dusted himself off. Like hell he was going to take advice from that man.

Even if he happened to be Thrax.

* * *

A few hours later, Ozzy found himself back at his apartment, pacing in front of his television. His shoes clopped furiously on the floor, and normally he would be concerned about a warning from the ornery old lady beneath him, but that thought was the farthest from his mind at that moment. He had shed his jacket and outside clothes, now wearing a pair of nice fitting black slacks and a crisp white shirt. He had dressed up for the meeting with the chief, and it hadn't gone well. Silver knew Ozzy hadn't meant to, but he had to make sure the rebel cop knew how much trouble he was in. One more slip up and that was it.

Ozzy would be off the force faster than he could say 'sorry'.

So now, with that thought in mind, he paced and glared at the white card sitting on his kitchen table. It was stark against the dark wood, standing out bright and mocking him.

Come on Ozzy! Go to the meeting. See what you can dig up.

No. This is ridiculous. He should have told Silver. Should have told someone.

Ah, but you didn't. So now, you have to go see him.

No. Actually, I don't, thank you very much brain!

Think of all the fun you'll have! Infiltration, Ozzy! Infiltration!

The cop sighed heavily, and plopped down onto the couch, staring into the kitchen and at card. He ran a hand through his hair, spiking it up in the process out of habit. Ozzy was so tired. He was so tired of taking shit from people. So tired of trying to prove himself to people he didn't care about. He was tired of being ignored.

Thrax was a crime lord. The same aristocrat Thrax who sat in his mansion and had no job but somehow lots of money. Yeah, that all added up. Sure, a nice, good, totally legal guy who just happened to share physical appearance and personality as the crime legend. Actually, legend was too nice a word. Right then, Ozzy thought of him only as scum.

It was ten 0'clock. If Ozzy left now, he could still make it to the mansion for the party. The card demanded formal attire, and that the card itself be presented as an invitation, lest entry would not be given. The Logo for the Nex was cleverly disguised inside the font itself, a black knife; Thrax's signature weapon. So now, the question was did Ozzy have it in him to go? It would be playing right into the mans hands, he knew. But it would be a ballsy move too… and maybe it would mean showing that the police still had a backbone. Or just Ozzy. He had a reputation to protect too. Not that it was going to get him anything other than trouble.

Thrax was dangerous. The cliché tall, dark and dangerous bad guy in all stories. And Ozzy wanted nothing more than to see him burn.

The cop shot up off of his couch upon making his decision. Speed walking into his room, he threw open the doors to his closet and pulled out a black garbage bag covered outfit on a wire hanger. Carefully, he removed the cover and removed the charcoal coloured suit. It was tailored to fit him, a gift from his friend. He'd only worn it once, to go see Drix at his award ceremony when he won an award for something. It was so long ago Ozzy couldn't remember. He undressed and then redressed quickly, straightening his tie in the bathroom mirror. He looked far too classy for his bathroom now. With a determined look on his face, he sped out of his apartment in a rush. It was only a few blocks to the subway, and from there he could walk the next few to the mansion.

He was going to get as much information as possible. Enough to take the crime lord down.

* * *

Thrax seriously doubted the cop would neglect to show up. He sat in his favourite armchair, sipping his usual glass of scotch and watching his guests carefully. Variola had given him ten of the best whores he owned for the night, too entertain Thrax's guests and keep them all busy while he and the others gathered for their meeting. Despite the constant murdering and scheming against each other, Variola and Thrax somehow managed to retain a twisted sort of relationship. It was toxic to both of them to act polite to the other, but beneath the stream of death threats and attempts at provision thefts, they were in fact civil.

But if Variola found out Thrax had invited a cop, there would be Hell to pay.

Thrax had looked the officer up, and found some very interesting information. The kid actually had an alright record, and he seemed to be quite the troublemaker, that only made things more interesting. As a gang leader, he always had to be careful of who suspected him. But this guy… this guy knew it was him. He knew. But nobody believed him.

That thought made him smile and he closed his eyes and took another sip of his drink.

"Oh, well hello there."

He opened his eyes to a pleasant sight. The girl was beautiful, with deep olive skin and almond shaped eyes. She was clearly oriental, but how much he was uncertain. She was dressed in a severe scarlet, a pleasant enough colour on it's own and even more so on her curved figure. The pendant on her necklace was the symbol for the Mac's, a silver tear within a circle.

Thrax sighed but couldn't retain his smile, looking her up and down without any shame. "Am I to assume you're here to be my entertainer?" The girl; no, woman… she was all woman, smiled and fluttered her eyes, "Oh yes. Mr. Variola sent me here to ensure you were pleased with the women he sent." As she spoke, she began a steady pace towards him; slow and sensual she moved, her voice sultry and low. She had the tone of secrets, of secrets that she knew and would be all too pleased to share with him, and him only. Yet Thrax, as much as he loved the pleasure they brought, didn't care for a lover who was fake.

Standing, Thrax exited his study and stood at the top of the staircase, looking over the railing and accepting her arm as the woman slipped hers through his own. "I had a feeling you wouldn't be interested. Still… it doesn't mean they aren't." Now her voice was anything but silky, and had gone quickly from smooth to tired in an instant. She suddenly looked much older than she had appeared earlier, and carried herself with an air that was more polite than alluring. Thrax pulled her closer to him and smiled down at his guests, watching as the ladies entranced them. "Yes, it seems Variola wants to impress me. Any idea why, Shar?" Shar let a smile grace her red lips before placing a finger across them, and then drawing it across her throat.

The movement put Thrax on edge; he counted on Shar for inside information. She knew when to keep her head down, and it seemed this was one of those times.

Before the crime lord could inquire further, the door across the lower floor opened. The mahogany wood creaked slightly and a man walked in. He was short, but he looked young. A dark caramel complexion and even darker brown hair had been washed and styled to look pleasing. His suit fit all too nicely on his form, if a little tight due to what was no doubt new muscle beneath the tailored cloth. Yes, he did look like he belonged here.

He was not introduced, but rather looked around carefully, having avoided the attention of most attendees. Those who did take notice didn't seem to care, except several of the girls. They were always looking for fresh young blood, if only to break the chain of older men they entertained. Thrax felt watched him carefully from his balcony over the floor, Shar on his arm and drink in his hand. It had taken him a moment to realize just whom it was who had entered, but the man was easy to read.

Poor Mr. Jones, Thrax thought idly, taking a sip of his drink, he just didn't know how to ignore taunts.

* * *

Ozzy looked around the fancy joint, enjoying the antique styled furniture and classical music playing. It was almost as though he had gone back in time, yet there was something entirely modern about the way the 'get-together' was staged. Men with their wives smiled and danced, laugher ringing through the hall. Men alone smoked cigars and drank liquor, some happily and others solemn. It seemed to the naïve eye that all things were well, but Ozzy recognized several felons in the room. Most were from the Nex, but there were a few who worked for hire; as well as some of Variola's men. Ozzy didn't want to know if Variola was around; the man was just as large a legend as Thrax. He had taken the drug trade by storm, supplying prescription drugs and marijuana to the highest bidders. He owned a shipping company, and was very skilled in the ways of avoiding unnecessary detection.

So yeah, it was safe to say he might piss himself.

A feeling of uneasiness spread through the cop, however, and he looked over his shoulder. There was nobody, and although a beautiful young lady clothed in green beckoned him over, he smiled politely and turned away. Now was not the time to lose his head, he knew. He casually walked towards the bar, and took a small glass of wine with a nod of thanks to the tender. Taking a sip, he found it to be luxurious in his mouth, a fine wine indeed. The feeling of unease did not leave him, but rather persisted despite his attempt at finding the source. He was being watched.

"Ah, Mr. Jones, you made it."

Ozzy spluttered into his wine, inhaling some and coughing without dignity. Looking up, he took a napkin and wiped his mouth as he was approached.

Thrax cleaned up nicely.

The man stood tall and proud, a jet-black suit fitted nicely to his body. A silk tie stood out against a crisp white dress shirt, and a small bump beneath the cloth suggested a necklace. No doubt the one he'd been playing with earlier. Ozzy couldn't help but stare, but really, who could resist someone so enchanting as this? He had a thick neck and square jaw, regal in its shape and even more so in its bearing. Thrax had tightened the braids and pulled them back over his shoulder into a tail, only one escaping the confines. It fell across his cheek, a glossy black. But it was his eyes that most held Ozzy captive. He could forever be lost to them, and would have willingly fallen into the golden depths.

The cop was brought from his reverie suddenly, turning to face Thrax's companion when she giggled. The woman smiled widely at him, her teeth white and perfect. "Mr. Jones?" Ozzy placed his drink back on the bar and looked at her with a careful smile of his own. "I'm sorry, I lost myself there for a sec." Her smile widened, if that were possible, and her green eyes sparkled, "Oh, I noticed. My name is Shar." She extended a slim hand and Ozzy took it out of reflex, leaning down to lay a chaste kiss on the back of her knuckle. Even in the ghetto, his mother had taught him manners.

Shay giggled softly, noting the slight flush on the mans' cheeks. Looked back up at Thrax, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth. "I'll let you gentlemen do business then. If you need me, you have but to call," as she said this, she winked at Thrax suggestively, breathing on his neck as she came down to her normal height. As normal as it could be in scarlet high heels, that is. With a final look at Thrax, she turned to Ozzy and dipped her head before taking her leave.

Unable to help himself, Ozzy stared after her, eyes following the flow of long, dark hair to her hips. They swayed as she walked, and it was utterly sensual. Someone cleared their throat, so the cop swallowed and looked up quickly, the flush deepening on his face.

Thrax was amused by Ozzy's infatuation with Shar, but an underlying feeling of annoyance was there too. Trying to be a good host, and put the cop on his toes, he smiled politely and waited for the cop to speak.

"She's uh… er… very nice."

Thrax couldn't stop the chuckle that bubbled out of his throat, starting softly and ending loudly. He cocked his head and then gestured to the stairs, before turning and stalking off. Ozzy, after a brief debate on whether to follow, jogged the few steps to catch up. The cop had to take one and a half steps for every one of Thrax's, and that made him feel short. He was huffing by the time they reached the top of the stairs. The crime lord didn't notice, or if he did, didn't care in the slightest, because he merely continued his stride onwards to a hallway. Ozzy followed, warily glancing over the balcony railing as he went. Shar saw him and smiled with a small wave, and he nodded at her and walked faster.

When Ozzy entered the office, he was reminded of the _Godfather_ movies. Tall shelves, only slightly lit. It was practically off the set for the movie. The furniture was all antique, and many papers and books lay scattered on both the desk and the tables. There was even a chair with books stacked on it, markers sticking out of them in every direction. Thrax sat in a high backed chair behind the biggest desk he had ever seen. The man sat languidly, resting his head on his knuckles and leaning to the side slightly. The faint lighting in the room cast a shadow on his face, and golden eyes peered at him through the dark. The cop couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down his spine, but swallowed and stood still. He was unsure of himself here, out of his domain, and that knowledge made Thrax all too pleased.

Oh, what power he had over the man.

Thrax liked power.

The crime lord smirked as the cop fidgeted with the cuff of his suit, pushing a braid out of his face. "Close the door and have a seat, Mr. Jones." Ozzy flinched at the commanding tone; so different from the greeting he had received earlier. He should never have come here. He closed the door with a quiet creaking of wood, and was then locked in the room with the most dangerous man in Frank.

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**A/N:** There you go. More to come. A nice cliffy for you guys.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thanks for the review PsychoPanda! You have no idea how happy you made me. Legit. That one review made my day. Here you guys go! It's a tad short, but I like where it went.

**Warning:** Contains slash, no real sex, but some serious making out. Male on male. You have been warned.

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Ozzy was scared. Hell, he was terrified. But he had committed to this. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he didn't wait to be instructed further. The cop walked as casual as possible towards the chair and smiled in what he hoped appeared as relaxation as he sat.

"Well, I'm pleased you could come."

Thrax's words were smothered in sweetness; like when you bite into a piece of candy and just can't stand it. It was evident he wasn't being genuine.

Ozzy bristled, "Cut the shit, Thrax."

The crime lord in question looked as though he couldn't decide whether to shoot the cop or to laugh at the absurdity. After a short pause, he chose both, chuckling deeply and leaning forward on his desk before speaking. "Or what? You'll arrest me? You don't have the nerve." Ozzy felt a shiver run down his spine at the voice, dark and entirely masculine. It was all danger and all thrill. Ozzy had always liked thrill…

No. Shut up brain.

"Look, you invited me here for a reason. What makes you think I didn't call the chief and we're surrounding the place right now? What if I'm the decoy?" It was a good question, and Thrax gave him points for that. But the slight tremor in his voice gave it all away. That, and the perimeter alarms would have gone off. Each member of his security had a card, but it required that and a passcode insertion. As a billionaire, he had trouble with media anyway; but with all the accusations it was imperative. The funny thing was, to him, that despite the fact all the accusations were true, nobody took it further than a single trial. The police of Frank had no backbone. Except for the officer he had taken interest in, that is. Besides that, security to his mansion wasn't a big issue. He wasn't the only one with men to guard him either; Variola was no doubt present by now or on his way. The man wouldn't go unprotected.

There had been a long debate about where to hold their meetings. But Variola had a very good alias. As a matter of fact, no one knew it was him who was the leader. He had a man of rather low intelligence attend the meetings, while Variola stood in the back pretending to be backup. He spoke, while the man looked intimidating and refused to speak. It was an interesting relationship they had; Variola so obviously had something on him that nobody knew about. That, or the guy really was a doorknob. Either way, Variola and Thrax decided that there was no harm, as of yet, in meeting at the mansion. The security was good, the space was large enough for all the people they brought, and if time called for celebration, there was immaculate food and guests to be presented.

In answer to the officers' question, Thrax raised an eyebrow before speaking. "Yes, I did," the lord leaned back again, making the cop flinch at the movement, "And I believe we have some things to discuss. Firstly, and please stay seated, you are sniffing around things you should stay away from." The cop snorted with derision, and crossed his arms with a roll of his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Listen, I don't care what it takes. I told you. I'm going to get the evidence to put you away forever."

Ozzy was smirking on the inside, not stupid enough to make it visible. There had been a definite change in attitude from Thrax at that statement. The guy had to learn that even though the police had given up, he hadn't. He wouldn't. Ever.

"Mr. Jones, I'm going to make this clear. If you don't stay out of my business, I will get in yours. And you don't want that, I promise." The threat was dark and real, but it didn't phase Ozzy in the slightest. He spoke before thinking, not even noticing the man across from him smirk.

"Bring it on."

In only a heartbeat, the cop found himself slammed headfirst into the desk, one arm twisted sharply behind his back and Thrax standing over him. The lord had some how managed to pin him from the front, his long limbs coming in handy against the shorter man. Thrax leaned down to Ozzy's face, glaring into resistant brown eyes. At this angle, he was mostly shadow, except for the whites of his eyes and that damned perfect smile. "Oh, if that's what you want," he leaned closer still, eyes closing slightly, "You had only but to ask." And he stopped, lips only a breath away from Ozzy's. The crime lord pulled away, pushing off of the cop and causing both to fall back into their chairs.

Ozzy slumped in a very undignified way, blinking rapidly and trying to make his sudden warmth go away. He was getting turned on, that much was evident to him, but… why? No, it wasn't the commanding tone or domineering aura, it wasn't the raw terror of being at the mercy of this dangerous man. It couldn't be. Cops didn't want that. Blood had rushed to his face and more to the south of his body, but still the cop refused to recognize what it meant. Instead, he glared and then huffed, remaining in his position, completely unaware of what he was doing to the man across from him.

This position was something Thrax took note of. Maybe it was the cop's natural action, or maybe it was entirely coincidence, but he had fallen in such an alluring way it was hard not to notice. The cop appeared to be pouting, with his lip pushed out slightly and arms crossed across his chest. In addition to this, Ozzy looked positively pissed. Perhaps it was this that made him so appetizing to Thrax. The man was clearing fuming and had no way out of the situation. Of course, what the crime lord had done was entirely intentional; screwing with people's heads was what he did best.

Though in this case, Thrax thought deviously, it wasn't the only thing he wouldn't mind screwing with.

The cop had the urge to give Thrax the finger, but he kept his childish tendencies at bay. He instead stuck out his tongue. This got a reaction he wasn't expecting. The crime lord stared. Not a glance, not a look, no… he actually stared. And dammit if that wasn't positively seductive. Ozzy had never been wanted or desired like those eyes said he was. He watched the golden spheres follow his tongue, as he swept it over his suddenly dry lips. Maybe he could use this to his advantage… The feeling of being watched sent shivers through him, a heat building inside his stomach. Unable to help himself, the cop smirked and let it slide back between his lips, shifting casually and leaning back in his chair to expose more of his neck. He swallowed and then let a sigh escape his lips, as though he were just realizing how stiff his neck was.

Thrax fell for it.

The crime lord stood suddenly, and with a quickness he should never have possessed, Thrax was beside Ozzy. The rebel looked up at him with half lidded eyes, looking right into the molten ones above him. The crime lord couldn't remember seeing eyes like that; so full of youth and vitality. He wanted nothing more than to see them open wide, to turn into a pool of passion and pain. He didn't bother thinking about his next action. He leaned and placed his lips against Ozzy's.

Oh, that was nice.

The kiss was far from chaste. Thrax was in command, which was evident; he kept his mouth slanted against the cops, pressing into him with frenzy. The lord rested his hands on the arms of the chair, bringing his knee up to rest between the cop's legs. Ozzy couldn't remember the last time he'd been kissed like this. With lust and desire and… wait. No. He shouldn't be kissing this man! Not even for information… With a shove, the cop effectively separated their mouths, panting and even hotter than before. Ozzy glared, all the resistance he could muster filling his face.

Okay, so there wasn't really a lot.

"Piss off!"

Thrax ignored the comment, grabbing the hands on his chest and pinning them to the arms of the chair. Leaning in close, he inhaled the cops scent and grinning at him whispered, "If you can make me let go, this will stop." Blinking up at the man, Ozzy's brain registered the challenge just as lips met his own once more. Now, it was a fight instead of a welcoming intrusion. He kissed back out of reflex, and found it only fueled his desire for escape. The cop struggled, trying to kick the man but instead rubbing his thigh against the knee between his legs. It created a lovely friction there, and he pulled away from the kiss to hiss between his teeth, arching away from the crime lord in a beautiful curve. Thrax took advantage of this and made to move to his neck, licking the smooth column of flesh. Ozzy couldn't contain the groan, and flushed all the way to his ears when he realized it had been him who made it. Teeth lightly grazed his skin and kisses ranging from loving to harsh nips ravished his neck. A hand trailed beneath his suit jacket and shirt, no longer holding him captive. When had that happened?

Using this new piece of information, Ozzy turned his head and grabbed the front of Thrax's suit, fisting the expensive fabric and drawing the mans mouth back to his. This had to stop, it really did. But… The cop opened his mouth willingly, letting the other rove his mouth like he owned it. The muscle mapped his mouth, exploring the cavern like he would never see it again. They both knew he would, one with pleasure and the other with reluctance. Ozzy tightened his grip, knuckles going white as he moaned into the others mouth.

Thrax smirked against those lips, feeling the man beneath him start to let go. So, instead of killing him to keep information secret, he could use him instead. It seemed a good deal to him.

The crime lord reached down to touch the other man between his legs, feeling the hardened flesh through his pants. Knowing he had this effect on Ozzy… it was an aphrodisiac in itself. This was going to be fun, Thrax knew.

Then the door opened.

"Thrax, the meeting is about to st-oh."

Thrax looked up from his position towering over Ozzy, pulling away from the panting man quickly. Shar stood at the door, eyes wide and hand on her hip. Music from the hall spilled into the room, masking the cops' erratic breathing. Ozzy was turned away from the door, and couldn't see her, so he shrunk down and pulled his legs up, hoping to hide from the woman.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize," she started, trying and failing to keep a smile from her face. "I didn't know you were busy, should I tell Variola you are… otherwise engaged?" Thrax seemed to consider it, looking down at Ozzy's form, so wanting and terrified. Licking his lips, he leaned down out of view, kissing the cop once more. In retaliation, he was bitten harshly on the lip, the man glaring daggers with brown eyes. Thrax pulled back with a start, growling at him and licking blood from his bottom lip. "No, Shar, please tell him I'll be there in a moment." With a nod, she winked at him and closed the door quietly.

Ozzy slipped out from beneath Thrax carefully, only just managing to edge between the man and chair without any unnecessary friction. He was however, unsuccessful in sneaking away. As he was about to rush away, the crime lord grabbed his arm and pulled him back, spinning him so that he was pressed against his chest. Ozzy attempted to pull away, but Thrax caught his jaw in a strong grip, glaring into his eyes. "I'm not done with you yet." The cop exhaled sharply, very aware of how dangerous a situation he had put himself in, all for a little information…

"But for now I have more important things to do," Thrax sighed and stepped away, "So this will have to wait." It was a relief and the perfect opportunity for escape. So why did the cop feel so disappointed? Ozzy merely glared before spitting, "Whatever. This'll never happen again, I promise." With a raised eyebrow, Thrax straightened his suit, somehow managing to remove the wrinkles on the front. "Right, well we'll see how long you last then, shall we?" He moved to the door and had his hand on the handle when he had a thought.

Ozzy didn't like the smirk the man suddenly had. It was unnerving to say the least. Thrax turned with a gleam in his eye, and looking as though he had just had an epiphany. "Why don't we make a game of this? I know you think you did that to trick me into letting something slip, which will never happen, by the way." At that, the cop shuffled his feet, at the same time readjusting himself inside his pants. His erection was dwindling, but slowly, and at the prospect of more pleasure by this man, any regression it had halted. Noticing the cops' uncertainty, Thrax continued, "If you can survive this meeting without them becoming suspicious of you, I'll let you off the hook." He stalked forward, standing tall and speaking clearly. The man stopped right in front of Ozzy, looking down at the now pissed man. "But if they have even the smallest suspicion that you are a cop… you'll stay one night with me."

He should say no. Every fiber of his being told him to say no. Ozzy, don't be stupid. You were stupid before. Look where it got you.

"This meeting… who's going to be there?"

"Myself and the leader of the Mac's. You get what you hear. But the second they call you out, you leave."

Ozzy bit his lip, worrying the flesh between his teeth.

Thrax was getting impatient. He huffed and then made to leave, casting a glare in the cops' general direction. The crime lord was halfway out the door when Ozzy grabbed his sleeve, looking into the golden eyes with determination. "You're on."

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Variola sat casually, seated in a luxurious leather armchair. His guards stood behind him, arms crossed and shades over their eyes. A few more sat around the table, six from his group and six from Thrax's. Normally, he would be seated amongst them and a decoy in his own spot, but this was Thrax. There had long since been an unspoken agreement between them; they both knew that it would eventually come to bloodshed. How could it not? The city of Frank could afford only one power house, but the way the economy was now, they needed each other. Constant warring between them would cause both their enterprises to suffer substantially, and neither could currently afford that. There was no need to fake his identity here.

Thrax finally arrived, and with two men in tow. One was tall and burly, Variola couldn't recall his name, but he was a regular. The other, he had never seen. He wore a nice fitting suit, and had slicked his dark hair back with gel. The guy was little in comparison to the men Thrax normally brought along, and the fact that he'd never been seen attending before was cause to be on his toes. But Variola trusted Thrax… as much as he was able to safely, in any case.

"Variola, sorry about the wait, I got caught up," Thrax greeted, taking his seat with a natural grace. The men stood behind him, and the difference in heights was almost comical. Variola smiled pleasantly, "Oh, Shar told me. Enjoying yourself a bit too much, were you?" The man across from him merely shifted his weight to lean on his hand, propping a leg on top of the other. "Something like that. But we have things to discuss, so let's get to it."

Time flew by. Ozzy stood as normal as possible, trying not to appear too intrigued and at the same time like he was ready to defend Thrax. Which, by the way, he was not. The guy could have been shot and the cop wouldn't have cared in the slightest. Okay, maybe a little. But only because he wanted to be the one to do it.

Yeah, that was it.

Either way, nobody seemed suspicious of him. Variola and Thrax spoke of various issues, prices for drugs and the money they were losing. Apparently it wasn't nearly as much as before; the price of marijuana was sky-rocketing quickly, and there was profit to be made. They discussed methods of shipping the drug to and from places; Variola having several important contacts and ways to dodge authorities. It seemed he was the one with connections in the Americas, while Thrax specialized in those out of country. They also talked a bit about the whore houses, Variola taking charge and how many girls he now had. Their clients were becoming more scarce which was either going to drive the prices of the services up, or put him into a deficit. Things were coming to a close and deals being finalized when he felt a gun pressed into is back.

Fear raced through him, and the whole room turned to stare as the man behind him spoke, "You're not from either gang. What are you doing here, bub?" Ozzy tensed, but didn't dare make a move. "I, uh…"

"He's with me."

Dear Lord, Thrax was a life saver. Wait, no, he killed people!

Ozzy breathed a sigh of relief anyways, glancing at the crime lord cautiously. He appeared languid as per usual, but he now had his eyes trained on the man behind Ozzy. The look in his eyes was nothing other than pure danger, the golden orbs molten with fury. Ozzy felt the gun begin to tremble against his back, lowering slightly. This was no comfort. "But sir, he… he's a cop."

Okay, that wasn't supposed to happen.

He didn't know what to do. Ozzy felt his palms go sweaty, he tried his best not to look perturbed, but it was difficult under such scrutiny. He was terrified. Maybe Thrax would save him, as stupid as it sounded. Maybe he would cover for him, surely it would be his ass too if they were found out?

"Oh, yes I know. He's an officer of Frank, one of the finest. I was about to fuck him before we came here."

The room went dead silent, and all eyes were on Ozzy. He swallowed thickly, feeling a bead of sweat roll down his back beneath his suit. What the fuck?

It was Variola who broke the silence. The man laughed. He fucking laughed.

What the hell?

"Oh, Thrax. You never fail to amuse. Todd, it might be a good idea to put the gun away. I won't stop him from killing you." The gun was lowered as quickly as it had been drawn. Ozzy noticed, not without confusion, that Thrax's eyes never left his attacker. After pursing his lips, Thrax spoke turning towards Variola, "I won't tolerate mistrust. I am allowed to bring whom I please. That was the agreement." The other crime lord nodded, and his grey eyes looked towards his man before back to Thrax. "Of course, I have faith in your judgment. In return, do you trust that his actions were his own? I can't say I didn't consider the possibility of him being a spy, however…" He left the sentence hanging, and it became clear to Ozzy just how close the two were.

He was suddenly very aware of how good looking Variola was.

Thrax smiled the smile of a demon, the anger still clear in his features. "Of course. If that was all we needed to discuss, I think I'll be taking the rest of the night to myself." He stood, and Todd jumped back about a foot. As Thrax had told him earlier, Ozzy stepped one step back and then one to the left, as he was on the left side. The crime lord nodded a farewell before proceeding to the door. He turned to speak again before he exited, "It has been a pleasure, thank you for the ladies you provided tonight. I trust you know where the exit is." With that, he left, his men following in single file.

Variola sighed deeply and rubbed his temple with a slim finger. That could have gone a lot better. He snapped his fingers and one of his guards leaned down so Variola could whisper in his ear. The man looked grave as he stood back up, walking over to Todd and taking the man's arm. Both men left the room, Todd pale and shaking. "Honestly, it was his first day too. Shame it's also his last."

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Thrax had instantly taken Ozzy out to the car. He did have a limousine, but he wanted to be in control tonight. He'd dismissed his men and said goodbye to his guests, and now had the cop by the arm and practically threw him into the passenger's seat. Thrax slid inside the Saleen graceful as a lynx, putting the key in and turning it. Both were silent as he drove the sleek vehicle off of the lot and into the streets.

Ozzy kept his eyes everywhere except the crime lord. Trees as they went by, traffic lights, mailboxes, buildings… anything to keep his mind off of what just happened. Thrax had announced the truth and nobody believed him. Would nobody believe the truth? Even when it was right beneath their noses… Thrax caught the look and knew what he was thinking. "Men occasionally stumble across truth. But most of them pick themselves up and hurry on as though it never happened," he said softly, not looking at the cop and proceeding to fall silent.

Ozzy silently agreed.

In almost no time, the officer was exiting the Saleen in front of his apartment. He was still shaken from his close call with death, but he was dealing with it. It also should have scared him that Thrax knew where he lived, but he supposed it was to be expected. Ozzy walked around to the sidewalk, stopping to glance at the crime lord. Thrax appeared deep in thought, and the cop hesitated to speak.

His instinct was to thank him for saving him. Pft, yeah right.

Ozzy turned to leave, but Thrax called him back suddenly. The cop obeyed slowly, leaning down to the window despite his better judgment. Thrax stole his lips in a searing kiss before he had time to question it, his tongue pushing past the cops lips in a brutal dance for dominance. Naturally, he won, and then pulled away from the now panting man in front of him.

The Saleen sped away down the dark street, newspapers flying about in its wake. Ozzy may have been mistaken, but he could have sworn he'd heard the words, "You lost."

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**A/N:** The quote about truth is from Winstin Churchill, by the way. How was the almost sex? This is my first time. Reviews make my day!


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews guys! I love them and I love you! Well... I think so. You guys seem awesome. What with your superior reviewing skills. No adult stuff in this one, more just for plot purposes. Next chapter though, next chapter!

PsychoPanda: I thank you especially! It's stuff like that that makes me want to write more. If you have anything else to comment on, good or bad, please let me know.  
Guest#1: Er, I'm glad it had that effect, I suppose. :) It's good when stories make people feel things!  
Guest#2: Oh, I will! I have big plans for this story! It's been planned to the end, and I think I average one chapter every week or so. Be on the lookout!

**WARNING: **Minor language in this chapter

**PLEASE NOTE:** I will reply to the reviews that I get prior to uploading the next chapter. I appreciate them greatly, but it would be easier if you didn't do it under the name 'guest'. Either way, I will reply, it's just more for your convenience in finding which one of my replies applies to you.

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Well, it was safe to say he hadn't slept much. Reese stared at the man across from him with pity, wishing his friend would open up to him more. Ozzy had called the previous night at around three in the morning, not shaky, but nervous as hell. The speed at which he'd spoken was something any auctioneer would be proud of, although most his words were nothing but gibberish. Needless to say, Reese came over and picked him up without question at his request.

Reese prided himself on being a good friend. He was awkward to be around certainly, and clumsy too. But he was always there when people needed him, family or no. In Ozzy's case, he took special care. Reese's older brother Drix had told him to watch him and make sure he didn't get into any trouble. Drix had gone into the medicine career, but the schooling required for it had taken him far from Frank. He finished it with record time and grades, eventually coming to work at a hospital several cities over. He was almost a world-renowned doctor, with the loss of lives at his hands very insignificant to those he saved. Reese had wanted to be a photographer, but nobody in their family was aloud to make self-decisions. Drix had always wanted to be a doctor, so when their parents picked his occupation to be as such he had been happy. But Reese… well, Drix had stood up for him, but his brother had to learn to stand up for himself. As it was, Reese was getting harped on for not going into something more scientific. What was more scientific than forensics? He didn't know.

That being said, Reese looked at Ozzy like he was family. Drix of course kept in touch with both of them, but he was no longer big in the picture. The scientist was worried.

Ozzy sat in the booth seat across from him, hunched over his rapidly disappearing blueberry muffin. The Central Perk was his favourite café, and Reese had not questioned the request to stop there. The cop across from him was halfway through the sweet and had downed two cups of hot chocolate, now working on a black coffee, sipping it every so often. He hadn't said much except that he needed to think, and Reese knew he had to be patient. Whatever it was, something was afoot, and it was serious. Ozzy was seldom this silent, and it was disconcerting.

The man in question licked the corner of his mouth, banishing any crumbs there to his stomach. The scalding beverage felt great as it burned down his throat; destroying any taste of Thrax. In his head, Ozzy now referred to his moment of weakness as 'The Episode'. Any excuse to make his actions rational was welcome, but he could come up with nothing other than that he was drugged. But that was impossible, the only way it was even a likelihood was that it had been put in his drink. But even then, he wouldn't have lost his lust so quickly… and he lost it very quickly, he told himself. Still, the wine had gone from bottle to glass seamlessly, and Ozzy had watched the process. He was so confused.

Damnit. Damn Thrax. Damn him. Damn everything.

As far as Ozzy was concerned, the world could burn to ashes and he couldn't have cared less. The cop took a rather large swig of coffee, and coughed as it seared down his throat, ignoring the look Reese gave him as he did so.

Well, he had to tell him at some point.

"I went to a gang meeting, and I got some good information," he said at last, peering down into the cup of dark liquid. An audible gasp left his friends lips, and he waited for the reprimand. Reese however, surprised him by asking something instead. "Are you okay?"

Ozzy looked up, and saw nothing except concern in green eyes. When he nodded, Reese returned the gesture, sitting back as though he hadn't realized he'd come to sit up. With a sigh, the scientist ran a slender hand through frazzled red hair, before his face changed entirely.

"You idiot!"

Ah, there we go.

"Do you know what could've happened? How did you get in? Did they catch you? Ozzy, did they see your face? They could put a hit out on you! You could die! WPP, here you come! Come on, man, I knew you did some stupid stuff, but really!" Through his rant, Ozzy turned back to his coffee, inhaling the scent and trying to calm down. Normally he didn't take these things to heart, but he knew what Reese was saying was true. Then came the big guns.

"What would Drix think?"

Oh, ouch. Damn.

Reese instantly backpedaled, raising his hands in a surrendering gesture with a groan. Drix was a touchy topic for them, mostly because he and Ozzy hadn't had the greatest of farewells. They'd been closer than most brothers, but of course they'd had to separate so Drix could have a life. Ozzy… well, he'd been jealous. How fair was it that his best friend had money coming out of his ears, that he had all the girls crawling over him… that he had a future. So when Drix told him he was leaving, Ozzy retaliated with things he never should have said. He'd felt abandoned. At the time, he'd meant the things he'd said too, and the sting from that never really left them. It had taken Ozzy a long time to admit he was wrong, but he did eventually. Until he found out that Drix put Reese on him.

Before leaving to the big city, Drix had made Reese promise to look after Ozzy. It had been accidental that the cop had found out, and when he had there was no stopping his raging tangent. Books flew, words were spit and a punch of two went through the drywall. After he'd calmed down though, Ozzy had mumbled an apology and the matter was dropped. Alright, so Reese wasn't a bad guy. But knowing people thought he needed a babysitter was rough. The lack of trust, while not necessarily undeserved, still hurt.

"Look Ozzy, I'm sorry… it's just…" he looked up helplessly; wire glasses slipping down his nose. The cop looked up with a lopsided smile, soft and slightly pained, "No, don't worry about it. You're right. I should be more careful." The tension died down quickly after that, as Ozzy sighed and repeated what he had learned. A mutual decision not to bring up how he'd come upon this information was made; Silver didn't need to know all the details.

Actually, thought Ozzy, neither did Reese.

He'd said nothing about the deal he'd made with Thrax, or The Episode, as it wasn't really anyone's business anyways. Cops were allowed to have social lives, even if they were sleeping with the biggest crime lord in the city.

Reese whistled sharply, leaning back in his booth seat across from Ozzy. "That's crazy man. I didn't know those companies were in on it. I guess it should have been obvious though; I mean, they didn't suffer nearly as much as everyone else when the economy crashed. And connections in Russia and China? That's big Oz, that's big." The cop nodded his head in agreement, draining the last of his coffee with a gulp. "Yeah, I know. Silver'll have to get off my back since I got all this." At that, Reese looked uncertain, but nodded, twining his fingers and reversing the process repeatedly. He was deep in thought when he realized something. "So you met Variola and Thrax? Or, I guess you met Thrax, but you met the Mac's second best?" Ozzy nodded his head slowly, the information sinking in at the same speed.

"Doesn't that mean you could take him in? Thrax, I mean. We have him at the scene of the crime."

Holy shit. Reese was right. The cop let it stew in his brain, realizing that he had in fact caught Thrax in the act. But… in taking him to court, it would mean admitting to several things he hadn't told Reese about. It would put Thrax behind bars for sure… at the cost of his own reputation and job, not to mention other things. Ozzy had a small reputation, but it was still safe in comparison to 'The cop that nearly shagged the crime lord' to be certain. Swallowing thickly, he shook his head. "It does," he admitted cautiously, looking up as he spoke, "but if I let it go for now, we can get more on both of them. I bet I can do it again."

The scientist shook his head firmly then, eyes hardening. "No, you just want the thrill of infiltration again. Oz, you got away with it once, you're here, and you're alive! Leave it at that. He might get off again, he always does, but at least we're on to him now. We know his contacts and the people he does business with… let it go and be happy with what you got." But Ozzy was already standing, straightening his leather jacket. "No, this is my case. I got myself into it, and I'll leave it be when I'm ready to. Don't tell Silver, this is my news. Just leave it for now, okay?" Reese scoffed incredulously, watching his friend stalk out of the café.

"Sometimes you're an idiot, Oz!"

And sometimes, he thought darkly, looking at the bill then presented to him, a cheapskate.

* * *

Ozzy arrived home late, or early depending on what he considered to be morning. The sun was whole in the sky, but not yet close to its highest peak. The rays painted an orange glow on the building tops, creating beauty in a city desperate for culture. Ozzy decided it was late, seeing as he hadn't slept yet. Dark circles rested beneath his eyes and his back ached from walking all the way from the café to his residence. It wasn't really that far, but with everything he'd been up to it sure seemed to be.

He closed the door as softly as possible; aware some people were still sleeping in the building. The officer had had enough warnings due to being too loud too early or late. He opened up the closet and, kicking off his shoes, the cop tossed his keys onto the table and stripped as he went down the hall. Clothes dropped on the way and littered the carpeted floor. Ignoring the fact that his bedroom door was open, he collapsed into bed without a second thought, falling asleep before he registered he wasn't alone.

Shar looked at the sleeping man with something similar to pity. She sat perched on the edge of the wooden dresser, legs crossed at the knee and hands curling around the edges.

She had changed from her scarlet dress to more comfortable clothes; a formal white shirt and tight fitting dress pants. Sandals adorned her feet, showing off her perfectly crimson painted toes. Before a whore, she was a lady, or so she told herself.

All ladies slept with people for money.

Curiosity took over her person, and she slipped off the dresser smoothly. Her feet made no sound against the carpet as she swayed all the way over to the cops bedside table, looking over the nude man with interest. His back was firmly muscled and, though there were scars, the rest of him was unmarked. Unable to help herself, Shar got a good look at his ass. It was certainly pleasant on the eyes, as was the rest of him. Deciding to let him keep his dignity, should he wake, she picked up a discarded blanket from the floor. It was a simple white sheet, but she tossed it into the air was the efficiency only a woman is capable of. It gracefully floated down onto his body, settling as gentle as a mothers kiss.

The cop snored once in his sleep, and rolled over, mouth open against the pillow. Shar rolled her eyes at the distasteful action, and then exited the room.

Thrax had been clear with his intentions. He wanted to use Ozzy against the police, possibly hold him for ransom. A citizen was good to use, but an officer of the law far outweighed them, a stereotype or not. Along the way, though he would never say so out loud, Shar knew he also intended to take away all of Ozzy's dignity and pride; destroying him from the inside out. It was cruel… but it was almost no different than what she did. Somehow despite her lack of both those things, she retained a great amount of self throughout, and still lived on in relative happiness. Coming to terms with being a whore hadn't been easy, but she'd done it. But Ozzy… well, he was a defiant man who would be difficult to break. She could easily see him sticking it out in denial until his death, and that would make his life hardly worth living.

The idea of her coming for a visit was to make sure he hadn't wandered out or told anyone. She couldn't be certain that's what he'd done, but seeing as he had called Reese she guessed it was the most probably answer. Thrax had researched Ozzy and his past and current status, noting with interest that his best friend happened to work on the Force with him. Shar had been less than pleased, but a very long time ago she had given her word to Thrax that she would do as he said… and she was a lady of her word.

So, she was to provide Ozzy with two things. One, a means of contact between the two men, and the other a key with which Ozzy could get into the most secret of places. It was a ploy of course, the more trouble Ozzy got into with Thrax, the more the crime lord had to punish him for. Shar was especially concerned about this last part

Ozzy was the picture of pure defiance. He would rather go though immense pain and agony, go through the torture mentally, physically, and socially before admitting he needed help. She could tell by the look in his eyes. It seemed to her that Thrax was a monster in this way, and yet he was being merciful. In any normal situation, information leaks like the officer were just killed, or threatened into silence. Doing either of those things would be difficult, but it would be easier than leading him on like this.

It made her wonder what could be in store for the man.

Shaking her head, Shar decided it wasn't her place to judge either of them. Maybe Ozzy would fold. Maybe Thrax would feel bad.

Hah.

The woman pulled her purse out from behind the couch, having placed it there to hide it, and removed two small black boxes. One was lighter than the other, and that same one was also smaller. It was a perfect square, while the other was more rectangular shaped and palm wide. Shar took them to Ozzy's room and put them on the dresser, lining them up with the center and putting on top of the other. Content with her work, she left the room, hoisting her purse up and leaving the room once more.

She left the apartment, and locked it with the newly copied key she'd gotten earlier, and left the building with an air of guilt. She was helping bring Ozzy into a world very different from the one he was used to.

Shar hoped he had the strength to survive it.

* * *

The sun rose and fell as the hours passed. During that time, Ozzy slept deeply, dreaming of red cars and golden eyes. A particularly vivid recollection of how they had smoldered during the episode flashed before him, and he woke instantly.

Sweat covered his body in a thin sheen, and the dim sunlight filtering into the room warmed his hot body further. Groaning softly, the cop sat up in bed, putting his head in his hands and blinking his eyes rapidly. Normally images left him when he did this… but those eyes…

With a scowl, Ozzy flung the sheet off of himself and stumbled out of bed into the hall. Along the way he picked up his discarded clothes from earlier, silently berating himself for being so messy. After backtracking and tossing them into the hamper, he went to the bathroom to take a shower.

Already nude, he simply turned the nobs and hopped in, shivering violently at the ice water that hit his front. The building had hot water, but by the end of the day it was inevitably gone. Normally he got up early to shower, but well… he'd been out earlier that morning. The cop scrubbed himself with a fury, trying to get rid of the itchy feeling of arousal. The cold water should have done that for him, but… it wasn't working as it normally did. The sense that those golden eyes were watching him was overwhelming, and he wanted to touch himself beneath their gaze.

The soaped hand that washed his body went slower, while the other held the wall for support. Lower, and lower he went, making small circular motions as he went.

And then he snapped out of it.

Damnit!

Ozzy threw his hands up in the air, as though exasperated, and proceeded to finish rinsing off before getting out of the tub. The air outside the curtained area was warm in comparison to the water, and he'd forgotten to get a towel from his closet. Marching down the hallway nude, he entered his room and began sifting through drawers while still dripping.

The officer pulled out black jeans and a blue button-up shirt, tossing them onto his bed while simultaneously opening the top drawer. He decided to forgo underwear, as he hadn't done laundry in a while, and instead pulled out a pair of black socks to complete his ensemble.

He had only just pulled on his pants, and was drying his hair with his towel, when he noticed the boxes.

Halting the angry towel drying, Ozzy let it fall to the ground as he took the few steps to the dresser. The two boxes carried the sense of mystery, and this made the cop suspicious. He didn't remember putting them there, or even owning anything remotely like them. The officer glanced around nervously, picking them up and exiting his room topless.

"Hello?" He called softly, looking around the living room for anything out of place. There was certainly a pleasant smell floating around, a perfume of sorts that smelled of vanilla. Still distressed, Ozzy put the boxes on the table and went to the door. It was locked, but he couldn't honestly remember _not_ locking it, so he didn't pay that much attention. Crossing the hallway, he knocked on the door with the back of his knuckles, daring a peek down the rest of the hall as he waited for an answer.

The door opened slowly, a small child peeking out from behind the heavy door. "Yes?"

"Er, hi, my name is Ozzy, I live across from you." Figuring the height difference would make the girl nervous; he crouched down with his hands on his knees to talk with her.

Shyly, she smiled at him, large blue eyes curious but cautious. "I'm Natalie. But my friends call me Nat."

Ozzy smiled at her, and then realizing his lack of dress, decided to hurry in case her parents saw anything. "That's a pretty name. Nat, can you tell me if you've seen any pretty ladies around here?" The girl nodded her head, and her expression became awed as she remembered.

"Yeah, there was a lady with long black hair. She had a nice voice. I said hi to her."

"Did she tell you her name?"

"Yeah, she said it was Shar."

Having all the information he needed, Ozzy said goodbye to the girl and returned to his apartment, locking the door in irritation. So Thrax was having him followed? Well, this wasn't part of the plan. He should have guessed something along the lines would happen… making sure that information was kept only to Ozzy was sort of important. Then it hit him.

He'd already told Reese.

Shit.

Now he was in trouble! Ozzy didn't care so much for his own safety, but Reese had had to get special papers signed so that he could pass the weapons part of police schooling. There was no way he could defend himself. Which left it up to Ozzy to make sure no harm befell his friend, otherwise it would be on his conscience for the rest of his life. That meant subduing Thrax somehow… he swallowed thickly. The officer had a funny feeling he knew precisely how the crime lord would have to be subdued.

Ozzy went to the living room then, entertaining thoughts of 'The Episode' as he went. There was no way it was happening again. He was shaking his head when he picked up the first box, the smallest and topmost of the two. The lid slid off easily and inside was a beautiful pendant. It was a black obsidian dagger, about as long as two of his finger joints and thick as a pencil. Eyes widened, Ozzy picked it up and found it attached to a long silver chain, meant to be worn around the neck. A gasp escaped him as the tip of the dagger slit the pad of his thumb, and he dropped it back into the box as he stared at the bead of blood forming.

Sticking his wounded finger in his mouth, he opened the next box with one hand. Inside was an incredibly expensive phone, a blue case and black screen. Ozzy picked it up and slid the unlock button, finding the phone to be virtually empty of everything. The home screen had only one icon, the contacts. Opening those, he found only one number in the phone, labeled simply.

Thrax.

The cop shivered at the name, closing his eyes and groaning softly around his finger. Realizing what he was doing though, he scrunched his nose and removed his thumb, annoyed at himself for thinking like that. A part of him wanted to put the phone back and throw it away, while another part of him wanted to take the phone and smash it into the ground. Ozzy instead, against his better judgment, put the cell in his jeans pocket and the pendant around his neck. He was uncertain the significance of the necklace, but he didn't want to risk losing something that might be evidence. His apartment wasn't really the safest of places, and that was the reason he didn't have a TV or anything else electronic. It had all been stolen. Leaving something so beautiful as the dagger pendant would leave it open to theft, and he couldn't have it getting lost.

So he told himself.

Deciding it was high time to get dressed and go out for the night, Ozzy did just that. Being off duty and not having to report in until the next evening, he put on the clothes he had designated for himself. Slipping on his shoes and leather jacket, he was out of there.

* * *

Thrax wondered only briefly what the cop would think of his gifts.

No doubt he'd throw them away, it's what he'd have done.

Still, the thought that Ozzy may have kept them was pleasing to him, and so the crime lord entertained that thought more so than the others.

Shar had arrived back to tell him of Ozzy's excursion with Reese, and the lord had looked up the other officer with quickness. He found that he was the other man from the news the other night, and other things too. The scientist would be an easy target, and likely a good piece of blackmail material should his own persuasions not go well with Ozzy.

With a sigh, Thrax entered his room, rubbing small circles into his temples to sate his headache. After the meeting, there had been many phone calls to make and papers to sign, dealers to kill and replace, more meetings to be scheduled. It had been a long day. With no sleep for over thirty-six hours, Thrax felt his body beginning to tire not for the first time that evening. He removed his clothes slowly, sighing again as his tired muscles began to ache with the small movements. Soon, he promised the, soon they could rest.

Now fully unclothed, the crime lord sank into his bed with relish, enjoying the feel of the cool cloth against his body. It soothed him in a way nothing else could, and as he began drifting off to sleep, he managed a single thought before falling unconscious.

The thought of a certain officer, chain around his neck, laying beside him.

.

* * *

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**A/N:** Thanks again guys, I appreciate the reviews and they make my day entirely!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Hey guys! Here you go! Thanks so much for the wonderful reviews, I so appreciate it!

Guest #1: You thought THAT was hot? Dude. This chapters for yoooooou. Well, you and everyone else who's been waiting for sex. XD  
Psychopanda: You're fantastic. Thank-you so much for reviewing each time! I look forward to yours each chapter I post! Please, continue on!  
Gae-ta: Oh. My. Goodness. You flatter me! You made my day. Quite literally. I was all smiles and dimples for the rest of my day, after seeing your review. I'm so happy I made you that happy!

**WARNING:** Contains yaoi, or male on male sex; not soft-core.

For the warning above, I wanted to make this clear here. This isn't JUST about sex, okay guys? Don't get me wrong, I love me some man-love, but... I like plot too, and I have a whole big thing planned. Please tell me though, if you have any suggestions or ideas. It's like... I have the bread for a many-decker sandwich, and only some of the stuff that goes in the middle. Do so in reviews! If I like the idea, I will work with it. No garuntees.

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* * *

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Ozzy had decided to pay Thrax a visit. The cell phone was turned on, but he didn't want to use it. The idea that he wasn't able to provide himself access to the man without his help was irritating. So, the cop took it upon himself to call a taxi to the mansion.

Feeling evil that day, he even decided to stick Thrax with the bill. Totally not because he didn't have the money or anything…

But even if he did have the cash, he'd still do it.

Grinning as he exited the cab, he smiled at the driver, "Hold on a sec, I'll go get the money." Normally, the driver wouldn't have let him go so easily, but seeing as they were stopped outside the most luxurious mansion in all of Frank, he decided to bite his tongue and wait for the pay.

Ozzy walked over to the large gates that surrounded the property, pressing the intercom button. A gruff elderly man appeared on a small screen, and Ozzy smiled at him lazily. "Hey, I'm here to see Thrax."

The old man laughed, sounding not that different from a choking bird. Wheezing slightly by the end of his bout, he looked at Ozzy appraisingly, "Is that so, boy? Do you have any… proof?" The man waggled his eyebrows, thick bushy things that almost covered his eyes entirely. Confused, the officer started to shake his head, when he saw the small black dagger pin sitting on the black silk tie the man was wearing. The shake turned into a nod, and he discreetly pulled the black dagger pendant out from beneath his shirt. The chain was cold between his fingers, but the burden was comforting in his hand. With a nod from the old man, a button was pushed and the metal gates screeched opened.

The taxi driver, wanting to up his pay even more, offered to give the cop a ride up the paved drive to the door. Ozzy accepted, grinning at the thought of a higher fee. When they got to the entrance, the cop exited the taxi once more, and jogged up the few marble steps to the massive wooden doors. He opened them with a small amount of difficulty, a soft huff escaping him at the weight and entered the building.

He came to be standing in the hall he had first entered at the party, and looked up the stairs instantly. The doors to the office were closed, and a maid dusted an antique vase on display beside them. The butler was standing by ready to take his coat, reaching out with a white-gloved hand. "Oh, no thanks, I'd rather keep it on." The man, not so different from the one on the com, nodded, wrinkled face solemn. With a nod to the butler, Ozzy continued on his way up the stairs. Every step sent echoes through the empty hall, so different from the night before.

Instead of elegant music there was an uncomfortable silence, and the marble that had reflected the glorious crystal chandelier light was now cold and dismal in comparison. It still shone, yes, but it gave off a perfect white glow, instead of the happy, comfortable gold of the party lights. With no laughter or music, every other sound was amplified what seemed ten-fold; from the sound of feathers against porcelain, and suede against marble, to the breath of the old butler still standing by the door.

Then he realized. Thrax didn't know he was there. Ozzy glanced around, and noticed the butler was gone. That was weird. But… that meant… he had the entire mansion at his disposal. Thoughts of espionage filled his head, of thievery of the officer kind. The kind where he could gather intel without a warrant, because nobody would know he was ever there. Except for the com guy… and the butler. But neither of the, looked like they were going to rat on him.

Officer ran up the stairs two at a time, not caring that he was making a terrible amount of noise. Reaching the top, he stopped and marched straight up to the study doors, and went to open them. The elegant handle turned only slightly, before clicking, signaling a locked door. With an exasperated sigh, Ozzy spun on his heels and went to check the next set of doors. These too were locked. And the next. Locked. Next. Locked. Next. Locked.

Damnit!

A car honked outside.

Ozzy was about to continue his search for an unlocked door when he spotted a maid. She wore the cliché outfit, black dress and white frilled apron, her pretty blonde hair bouncing as she reached up to dust a shelf painting in the hall. The girl was, however, looking right at the officer.

"Uh… hi." He tried, attempting to look like he knew what he was doing. The girl set herself back on her feet, blinking large blue eyes at him as she waited for him to speak more. "So…" Ozzy scratched the back of his head, "Do you… uh… know where Thrax is? It's important." The girl looked at him with interest now, up and down, assessing him before nodding. "Yes'ir, if you'd follow me." With that, she began a brisk walk, fast for someone so short, towards the turn at the end of the hall. Ozzy looked back to the way he had come, finding himself lost in a maze of doors, before jogging to catch up with her.

He was careful to remember specific parts of the halls, so he could better find his way out. No way was he going to depend on anyone to help him here, even the maid. Pretty faces could be deceiving, he thought darkly, remembering Shar.

The girl stopped when she came to a double-doored room, curtsying slightly. "This is the room you'll be wanting, sir." Ozzy shifted his feet uncomfortably as she stood and then left, practically skipping as she did so. Something had made her happy. Curiously, the officer wondered what it was as he carefully opened the door.

The room was beautiful in every sense of the word. The first thing Ozzy laid eyes on was a monstrous but gorgeous painting, from his waist climbing to the ceiling, easily taller and longer than he could ever hope to be. It depicted mountains, a thick forest of pine on the base of it. The frozen mountain caps were whiter than the sky behind them, and the valley at their base was dusted with white mist. It was framed in gold, elegant designs curling at the corners. Awed, the cop turned his attention to the rest of the room.

The floor was carpeted, the opulent rug soft beneath his feet and well taken care of. Curtains of deep burgundy kept the room dark, while a small lamp on the desk lit it only lightly. The lighting gave the room a dark look, but comforting in a way he couldn't place. The room looked lived in, with books opened and marked on nearly every surface. There were books on every subject, all thoroughly read and stacked precariously atop one another. Ozzy followed the trail of books, looking for anything conspicuous, when his eyes fell upon a bed.

It was just as grand as the rest of the room, but he didn't pay it nearly as much attention as the one who was in it.

The man slept soundly, a thick blanket covering him head to toe. It outlined him only vaguely, and for that Ozzy was almost disappointed. His dark hair was fanned against the pillow behind him, beneath which one of his arms was curled. He slept on his side, lips parted slightly as he breathed. It was an entrancing sight, and despite himself and all his inner warnings, the officer stepped quietly over to the side of the bed. The sight was glorious to behold, and a single braid had fallen across the man's face. Ozzy wanted to move it.

Thrax…

He reached out to do so, timidly taking hold of the silk that was Thrax's hair.

And then cried out.

In no less than two seconds, he had gone from entirely at ease to entirely frightening, and Ozzy lashed out at his captor.

Thrax had bolted upwards, taking Ozzy's outstretched arm and yanking it further away, causing the cop to fall ungracefully across the crime lords' lap. Holding the man in one place, Thrax had pulled a knife out from somewhere, and now held it pressed hard against the soft skin of Ozzy's throat. Fear lanced through him, and he stayed as still as possible. Feeling this… beast… so full of power and will, and the ability to kill him with ease. Suppressing a shiver, Ozzy wanted to swallow the lump in his throat, but dared not with the knife so close.

The crime lord was breathing heavily, holding the unwanted guest with an iron grip. His braids fell across his shoulders, and he groaned as the familiar scent filled his mind with pictures of Ozzy.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Irritated, he continued to hold the man in place, and refused to let the knife fall from against the mans neck. He did, however, increase the pressure against the column of flesh when he received no answer. Ozzy swallowed despite his better judgment, feeling the pinprick of the knife in his skin just so, but decided a small cut was better than losing his head entirely.

"I, uh…"

And then the door opened.

"Ah, sir! I was told to info-" The girl, the same young blonde who had helped Ozzy earlier, took in the sight before her with wide eyes. Thrax had quickly slipped the knife beneath a pillow, and sat back straight, bare chested with the cop across his lap. The smaller man had his head buried in the blankets, a dark flush rising steadily to his face. Blinking, the maid turned scarlet and turned around, wringing her hands together.

"I-I was told to inform you that there is a car outside demanding a fee."

Thrax looked away from the stuttering girl, seeming entirely at ease, and raised an eyebrow at the man on top of him. Ozzy avoided his gaze, staring more intently into the grey sheets of the bed. The crime lord smirked a little, and then using the hand that had previously held the weapon, ran a single finger down the middle of Ozzy's back. Thrax felt him tremble and suppress a gasp, making it sound something similar to a hiccup. "Oh, don't worry baby, I'll get back to you." He had lowered his voice to a sultry tone, filling it with dark promises. The officer made an undignified squeak before retorting, "What? I'm no-" He was silenced when the hand holding his wrists tightened, making him bite his lip.

Content, the crime lord returned his gaze to the maid. "I see. Well, I'm informed. Tell Weston to pay the fee." The girl nodded, her golden curls bouncing on her shoulders, and then she scurried to the open door.

"Oh, and Marie, if you wouldn't mind making sure I'm not disturbed?"

"Ah, yes sir."

And with that she was gone, and the two men were left alone in the dim room.

Thrax let go of Ozzy's hands, and stretched upwards with a groan, his muscles sore from lack of sleep. The cop was quickly on his feet, straightening his jacket and sending glares at the other. "Mr. Jones, do you know how much sleep I've lost because of you?" It was meant to be taken seriously, but after he'd said it Thrax knew how it would be taken. As he predicted, the mans flush deepened impossibly more, the scarlet tingeing his ears and dusting his neck slightly. "I did mean what with you barging in here all the time. Not what you're thinking." The crime lord smirked at the cop, all too pleased with himself.

With no reply, Ozzy just huffed at him, and then crossed his arms in a defiant gesture, "So what was all that with the maid then?"

"Ah… Marie is somewhat of a busy body. The gossip of the house, I'm afraid. Look at it from her perspective. Or try, if your brain is capable." Thrax opened the drawer at his bedside, removing a cigar and box of matches. Ozzy did think about it, or looked like he had. Raising a single finger and opening his mouth, he hesitated and then closed it. Eyebrows knitting together, he thought hard. What _would_ she think? Probably that they were about to fuck. Which, they were not. Ever.

"It looked like we were about t-" the man was cut off when Thrax blew a puff of smoke in his face, making him cough and his eyes water. "Which is exactly what I want her to think. It would be problematic for her to think otherwise." The crime lord rolled his eyes, humming pleasurably at the taste of cigar in his mouth, and sighing before leaning against the headboard. Ozzy still didn't see how the maid telling everyone they were having sex helped whatever problem there was. Confused, he inquired further, "Right, but… I mean, it could have just been a visit, you know? What if…" But he stopped at the look the man on the bed was giving him, an irritated scowl. "Listen, and understand Mr. Jones. If anyone so much as guesses you are part of the law enforcement, people will think I've gone soft. As it is, people already suspect you. If she were to see me forsake my sleep and meet with you, someone who has seldom been here since last night, what is she to think? It's better all around for her to think I'm fucking you."

"B-but you're not!"

"Not yet, Mr. Jones."

Ozzy chewed on his lip, annoyed and ready to show it. But if anyone really did know he was a cop… he could see the problem. It would be his job, too if anyone found out. Or worse, his life. Swallowing thickly, he muttered darkly and then noticed his badge had slipped out of his jacket pocket.

It now rested against the grey sheets, standing out perfectly. He wanted to reach for it, but looked at Thrax before doing so. The man had his eyes downcast, gold staring at the burning end of the cigar deep in thought. Ozzy had wanted to leave, but he couldn't do so without his badge. It was bad enough he had decided to come and try snooping again in any case. Mocking the crime lord hadn't been a good idea, either. Hesitant at first, he steeled himself for what was to come. He had to be quick. Closing his brown eyes, he flexed his fingers and breathed deeply, getting up his nerve.

Okay, he could do this…

He leaned over Thrax and grabbed the badge as fast as he could, standing back up again.

Ozzy exhaled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding, looking at the badge in his hand with bewilderment. Thrax was going to let him go that easily? It seemed fishy to him. He couldn't imagine what sort of things the crime lord would make him do, if he had his badge as black mail material. Blinking, he looked at the man on the bed, stepping back a bit when he saw the look in his eyes.

Thrax had raised an eyebrow, an expression often seen on his face when around the cop. He was smirking, dark braids framing his face in disarray. He looked expectant, as though waiting for the officer to say something. Bristling, Ozzy fell for the bait and snapped, "Oh, what? I had to be fast! I thought you were gonna… you were gonna…" Now instead of annoyed at Thrax, he looked annoyed at himself; flustered, to be exact. He continued to worry his lip, fingers twitching and eyes looking everywhere except Thrax.

The crime lord did not like that.

The mans attention should be focused on _him_.

"I was going to what?" He cocked his head a little, trying to make the smaller man look at him again. Instead, he got a mumbled reply from trembling lips, Ozzy still refusing to look anywhere in the beds vicinity. Thrax couldn't make out the words, so he reached out and grabbed the officer, yanking him back onto the bed into his previous position. "What was I going to do?" The smaller man struggled against the tight grip, but the attempt was futile. Thrax leaned over his face, letting his braids tickle the sides of the cops head.

"Nothing."

Ozzy glared at the crime lord, hands still trembling and lips beginning to. His face was flushed, and the hot breath against it wasn't helping. Thrax was dissatisfied with that answer, and licked the officers lips slowly, making him shiver. "I think..." he licked them again, "that you know exactly," now a nibble, "what you wanted me to do." Ozzy renewed a struggle he'd entirely forgotten, hissing angrily, "I don't want you to do anything to me except let me go!" But his cries fell on deaf ears as Thrax kissed him.

A heat pooled into both of them at the first touch of lips, softly pressing at first. Ozzy tasted the cigar in Thrax's mouth, and wondered vaguely when he'd discarded it. But even as he thought, the mouth against his pressed harder, dominating his wet lips with his own. Hands traced his body with a light touch, ghosting over his chest and lower abdomen. The officer gasped and reached up to hold onto Thrax, but his nails found no purchase against the dark skin. The crime lord growled into the kiss as Ozzy scratched his shoulder, forcing the mans mouth open with his tongue. There was no struggle from the officer, and while it was surprising, it was not unwelcome.

The position was getting uncomfortable the further he craned his neck, and Ozzy took it upon himself to shift. Without breaking their mouths apart, he sat up on the bed, straddling Thrax's legs and moaning softly at the friction on his groin as he did so. Before he could tell himself not to, he removed his leather jacket and tossed it away somewhere. Surprised once more, the crime lord moved his hands to card through the Ozzy's hair, the other his chest through his shirt. Unable to help himself, the smaller man let out a low keen, breaking away from Thrax and panting with his eyes closed. His hips rolled against the man beneath him without his consent, and he knew he had to get control of himself.

"T-Thrax..." he tried, ending in a gasp as the man moved to his neck. Small nibbles from his ear to his shoulder made him shake, and when he stopped at the sensitive spot... "Ah, s-stop!" Ozzy twisted away from him, reaching up to bury his hands in the thick tendrils of Thrax's hair. The crime lord sucked harshly against the cops neck, making sure to leave a mark. This man was his.

Thrax grinned against the mans neck, leaving a soft kiss on the bruised flesh before moving back up his jaw to his mouth. "Don't fight me anymore..." he whispered against the corner of Ozzy's mouth, feeling the wetness of frustrated tears, "Let me take care of you, baby." And all the resistance left him. A sigh escaped Ozzy's lips, and he rocked into Thrax and dug his nails into the mans shoulder, unable to and unwilling to help himself.

He was undone.

And oh, Lord how good it felt.

"Thrax... I can't..." Ozzy was pushing away from him again, eyes half lidded and clouded with lust. Ignoring his slight confusion and the cops words, he began the slow task of trying to make him submit again. But the officer growled at him, an annoyed sound that made him pause. Pulling away from his neck, Thrax pushed his hands up beneath Ozzy's shirt, feeling the taut muscles twitching beneath his palms.

Breath caught in his throat, Ozzy released a sigh of pleasure at the needed contact, opening his eyes and pulling away again. "I can't," he gasped as Thrax traced patterns on his abdominals, "I can't take anymore..."

Was that all it was? Thrax hummed against his throat, nipping at the flushed skin as the man writhed. "Well, let me help you with that..." Taking a firm hold of the smaller man, he flipped them so Ozzy lay sprawled beneath him, gazing up at him with lust clouded eyes. His lips were kiss swollen, red and begging to be kissed again. Licking his lips, Thrax held himself up over him, using only one hand while the other undid the buttons of Ozzy's shirt. He had felt the muscles, but this was his first time seeing them. The crime lord enjoyed the look of Ozzy's body just as much as he loved the reactions he got for touching it. The blue cloth was soft, but the skin beneath it was hard with muscle, smooth and perfect.

Leaning down, Thrax licked along the contours of Ozzy's stomach, enjoying the feel of the smaller man pulling lightly at his hair. Fingers kneaded his scalp pleasantly, but became more insistent the lower he went. "I-I-oh... Thra-ah!"

It was driving him crazy. Each time that tongue touched him, it left a trail of heat in its wake. Ozzy didn't know what was happening, but he knew whatever it was, it was going to be good. He hadn't even been touched yet, but he knew he was hard. The noises he was making were barely registered as his own, his desire-muddled brain unable to process anything but the pleasure wracking his body. "I ca-ah! Can't anymore... can't," it really was too much. Ozzy was entirely too far gone, black creeping into his vision, if he didn't come soon, he'd faint for sure.

But Thrax only smiled up at him, his fingers hooking into the edge of his pants, "I'll show you just how much you really _can_ take, Mr. Jones." With that, he pulled the pants and boxers from his hips, sitting up only to toss them away. Ozzy panted, his only clothes the opened shirt and black socks. Thrax took the liberty of removing the socks as well, tossing them away with the rest of his clothes. He himself was already entirely naked, the blankets still twisted around his waist. The debate of removing it was silenced, as he decided the cop might renew his struggle should he do so. Ozzy moaned loudly, reaching up to cover his mouth, as Thrax returned to his previous position. "Let me hear you," he whispered, large hands roving the body beneath him.

When the cop refused to remove his hands, Thrax thrust his hips into the ones under him, jolting Ozzy as he did so. The groan that escaped the smaller mans lips was music to Thrax's ears, and he repeated the action over. The thin sheet was a slight hindrance, but it made them both moan none the less.

Ozzy sat up, his legs curling around Thrax's waist as he began to tremble. Damn, that powerful body was right in front of him, slightly sweaty and beautifully toned. He wanted to touch, but... would he let him? What if he did the wrong thing? He'd never been with another man before... The cop let out a frustrated sound and fisted the sheets. Thrax only continued his jerking movements, the grey sheet in question still wrapped tightly around his waist. Seeing the look on Ozzy's face, he stopped and gathered the man in his arms, pressing them together and creating an even more marvelous friction. Ozzy breathed hard against his neck, his nails scratching again at the backs of his shoulders.

"What do you want?"

The low whisper sent shivers through the cop, and he dug his nails into dark skin. A small voice in his head cried out that he stop this at once, that he run out the door and never come back.

Instead he whispered, "To touch you."

That was all the words needed, and suddenly they were flipped once again. The sheet was gone from between them, and Thrax lay still as Ozzy sat on his thighs, shaking and still rolling his hips. He reached up and took the smaller mans hands, guiding them downwards as he spoke, "Then do it."

Now a moan passed his lips, and Ozzy was in heaven. He moved his hands at a pace meant to relish, and please, and please it did. His hands moved over ever muscle, first only to feel the gorgeous body beneath his. The officers breath came fast, and he repeated the action, this time with the intention of pleasing the other man. He was entirely lost in the patterns he was tracing when he felt the softness of hair beneath his fingers.

Swallowing, Ozzy opened his eyes and looked at his hands. They were buried in the dark curls that led downwards, and he moved backwards a bit to allow himself more room. Cautious, he wondered vaguely if he should ask before he... but no, the rebel part of him urged forward. So forward he went.

Thrax almost purred at the first touch on his cock, hard and hot beneath nimble fingers. He had had many lovers in the past, but he couldn't remember wanting their touch as badly as he did Ozzy's. The smaller man simply went for it, taking the length in his hands and stroking it tentatively. For encouragement as well as his own pleasure, Thrax placed his hands on Ozzy's head, and urged his face down. If the cop thought he was all that, he figured he should put the skill to the test.

Ozzy blinked rapidly, trying to think clearly again. A voice told him to just let it be, but something was screaming at him that this was all wrong. He shouldn't like the firm hand in his hair, or the demanding grip it had on his scalp. Instead, he let out a breathy moan and his hands moved faster, each time bobbing the hardness closer to his face. He thrust his hips into Thrax, very aware that he was harder than he had been in a long time. No amount of stimulation had ever gotten him this hot before.

It didn't take very long before Ozzy couldn't move anymore. The pleasure was so intense he was entirely too far gone. Thrax took note of the lack of movement, and growled in annoyance.

"Finish what you start, Jones."

The only response he got was a groan, and so he decided to take matters into his own hands, literally.

Thrax had never been one to take and not give, though he did give himself a few quick strokes to keep himself on his high. Golden eyes molten with desire, he pulled the man up his body, kissing him on the lips and nipping at them harshly. His hands moved down to give pleasure to the smaller man, enjoying the feel of the cock in his hands. The tip was already leaking pre-cum, and with such little amount of stimulation to that part of his body in particular, the cop couldn't have been giving into his desires that much.

And so, holding the man close, the crime lord stroked his length in time with the thrusts he gave. Ozzy was a writhing mess on top of him, sweaty and in complete disarray. "Come for me, Jones," he whispered, before moving down to his shoulder and biting hard.

Every bit of build up increased tenfold, and Ozzy saw only white as the tension in his belly finally gave out. A ragged sound tore from his throat, deep and full of satisfaction as he came. The pain of the bite combined with every other sensation was far too much for him to take, yet he continued the mindless thrusting into the man beneath him. Thrax didn't mind the extra stimulation in the slightest, still sporting a raging hard on himself. He closed his eyes as Ozzy rode out his orgasm, coming down from his own high.

Ozzy sighed contentedly, very aware that he was still laying on the crime lord. The dark skin was hot under his naked body, and he groaned and sat up to look the man in the face.

Oh damn.

Thrax looked every bit the dominant male. His chest rose and fell in deep breaths, and his aura was expectant. Looking down, Ozzy saw just what he was expecting, and didn't give himself a chance to back out.

The first touch of his lips was rushed, but he forced himself to calm down as a blush heated up his face. A soft gasp from above him spurred him on, and the cop licked the tip of the cock with his tongue. It was salty, and though the pre-cum was not entirely unpleasant for taste, he couldn't see himself doing this often.

Oh, how little he knew.

Ozzy licked down the sides, pushing the bit of skin off of the crown and poking at the slit with his tongue. His hands circled the base, fingers curling into the soft hair and stroking up and down in time with his licks. More of that same liquid dabbled the top, and Ozzy took the head into his mouth, pressing his lips together tightly around it. The hands in his hair tightened significantly, and he only just noticed the slight tremble in the thighs around him. He hummed to show his acknowledgement, and was almost gagged as Thrax thrust up into his mouth. He choked the second time, but continued his work, swirling his tongue and using everything he could think of to his advantage.

Thrax was no stranger to pleasure, and he knew when he was at his limit. He approached it swiftly, his eyes closing and muscles tensing as the heat inside his stomach coiled, ready to spring. The mouth had steadily moved from enveloping only his tip to the rest of his length, taking far more into the wonderful, wet heat. "Jones..." he murmured, digging his nails into the mans scalp in warning.

Damn the bastard, he only swallowed around him, creating a wonderful sensation that made Thrax want to curl his toes and moan for more. Keeping his composure relatively well, he only groaned and tossed his head back, braids fanning out against the sheets. Ozzy swallowed again, moving down on the hardness as far as he was able, hollowing his cheeks to make a wonderful suction. Thrax decided against another warning, as he was not accustomed to saying things twice.

The officer tensed and made a strangled noise as Thrax came in his mouth. The cum spurted in hot and sticky, the amount forcing him to swallow out of reflex. His hands moved to the ones on his head, trying to pry them off of his head as the softening length in his mouth thrust in a few more times for good measure.

The crime lord sat up and pushed the other man away, golden eyes watching the reactions he made.

Ozzy sat up between Thrax's legs, his own cum stuck to his stomach. A thin string of Thrax's own clung to his lips, which he promptly licked. The feeling of appreciation flitted vaguely through Thrax's mind, but he discarded the emotion as quickly as it came. The crime lord was a man of few words after sex, and he really was tired. Without another word, he closed his eyes and lay back down, feeling the bed shift as Ozzy got up. Somewhere he heard someone talking to him, a distant calling that he couldn't be bothered with. Sleep enveloped his satisfied body, taking him away physically and mentally.

Leaving Ozzy to his own devices.

.

* * *

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**A/N:** I feel like that was really bad, I'm sorry. I'll get better! D: Pointers are lovely, and sorry for the wait!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Guess who's back (back)? Back again (gain)... Just kidding. Okay. So, no sexytimes in this chapter. Sorry about that, but... you know, read it and enjoy! The lack of response on the last chapter has me thinking maybe I should just stick with plot instead of sex. XD Well... let me know next time.

Ashira21: Oh, yes, dangerous indeed! I'm really excited for what I have planned. Let me know if you like it!

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* * *

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Ozzy sat on the edge of the bed, uncertain of his feelings.

Sure, he knew how he _should_ feel… but well, how he should have felt wasn't how he really felt. It had been exhilarating. He'd never known himself to be capable of the things he did…

The cop raised a finger to his mouth, touching his lips as though they didn't belong to him. All those things he'd said… everything he'd _done_. Dear Lord. His brow creased and he scowled at his now trembling fingers, moving them to knead the sheets in clenched fists to keep them busy. He shifted partly to look at Thrax, to see if he was awake and what he would act like. Probably like a king, the bastard.

Instead, he was greeted with the crime lords sleeping form, not unlike when he had entered the room the first time. Thrax was sprawled atop the blankets, content to sleep covered in the various fluids already drying on his abs, and lower…

Ozzy swallowed and looked away, feeling the blood rise to his cheeks. He decided it would be best to clean up and get the hell out of there. And not because he would probably give in to his lust again. No. He would never. It was because he had to sleep and get ready for work in a few hours.

But he'd already slept what he needed too, and despite the sex he was still wide-awake, if a little he was a little confused. So, he stood and stretched, not daring to look behind him as he looked around the room further. Everything was as he had seen it the first time, but his gaze fell almost instantly on the large painting he'd spotted earlier. The mountains entranced him like nothing else, not even Thrax did. They were huge and majestic, with every bit of confidence that they would stand there forever. Ozzy thought he might like to be a mountain, before remembering they were very cold and shivering at the thought. Turning on the spot, he walked leisurely to the desk, very aware of his nakedness but confident nobody would enter or see or care. Leafing through the papers, his nimble fingers surfed them in an attempt at finding something worth his time.

It wasn't stealing, really. It was more like using circumstances to his advantage.

Upon finding a document that looked important, he pulled it out of the pile, careful to leave the corner between the other papers so he could file it back properly. Never let it be said he didn't clean up after himself. After looking at it, he found that it was a list of several warehouses Thrax intended to work out of, and ran back to his discarded clothes as quietly as he could. Pulling out the phone Thrax had given him, albeit with slight annoyance, he returned to the desk and took a picture of the paper and its contents. He'd forgotten his own phone at home, in his rush to torment the crime lord.

Ozzy took a few more pictures and, daringly, even tore out a piece of paper on a notepad, seeing an address circled several times in red pen. He stuffed it in his jacket pocket along with the cell, and then picked up all his things and looked around again. There was a door on the far wall that was either a walk in closet or a bathroom, and he guessed it was the latter.

The cop entered the room without apprehension, and was unsurprised at the expensive taste the crime lord had. The floors were marble tiles and the counters to match, slightly darker. A beautiful bathtub that could easily fit three large men waited to be filled by numerous faucets, no doubt with a specific job. A small screen on the wall waited to be typed into, and Ozzy set his things on the counter before looking at it closer. It was requesting whether it should use the previous settings or new ones. He thought it might not be best to tick of Thrax any further, so he selected the last settings. A soft 'beep' followed and the tub began to fill, steam instantly rising as it hit the frigid air.

Ozzy was about to go to the bath, but stopped as he looked into the mirror. It was fogging quickly, but not so much that he couldn't see himself clearly. The dark circles on his neck were already making themselves known, and he scowled at his expression. The dark chain of the necklace was still around his neck, spun so the dagger was at his back instead of front. It had been entirely forgotten in their previous activities, the tension really too intoxicating for them to take note of anything other than their bodies. Still… it was irritating that he was still wearing it. The cop removed the necklace and put it with his clothes, turning to the tub once more.

The man stretched a little, grimacing at the feel of stickiness on his stomach. Wrinkling his nose, he didn't wait for the bath to fill and made to step in. He gasped and stumbled backwards, the water being much hotter than he had expected. Feeling a little sheepish, he looked around to make sure no one had seen him before trying again. The warmth enveloped his foot slowly, as he cautiously made another attempt. He seldom got hot water in his apartment, and this was a luxury almost entirely new to him. Soon enough, after much wincing and flinching on the officers part, he sat entirely submerged but for his head. Ozzy groaned, closing his eyes and leaning back, content as the water stopped coming from the taps and he was left in silence.

The steam was nice, but he wanted more than that. Ozzy dunked his head after getting used to the temperature, and exited with a tiny gasp as he came back up. His hair clung to his face and drops of water on his eyelashes, and he wiped them away in annoyance. Looking around, he found that there was a lower counter with a few toiletries, namely shampoos. He found most of them to be non-scented, which made him twitch. So the smell of spice and danger was all Thrax's natural musk? He wrinkled his nose and pushed the bottles away, coming upon one that was supposed to "make girls flock to you". Chuckling, he found it to be nearly full and opened it, splashing water as he did so. Ozzy took a whiff and almost gagged.

More like make girls _flock_ away from you.

Snorting, he grabbed the unscented shampoo and squeezed some out, finding it cold against his heated skin. He lathered his hair and then washed his body with some nearby soap, also unscented. All in all, his bath was very uneventful and relaxing, despite the fact he was in the crime lord's mansion.

After exiting, he dried off with a white fluffy towel, contemplating stealing it before deciding he wasn't that desperate yet. Ozzy was reluctant to put on the same clothes after such a pleasant bath, but did so because he knew they were his only option. None of Thrax's stuff would ever come close to fitting his much slighter form.

He exited the bathroom in a puff of steam and turned off the light out of habit, drying his hair with a smaller towel. Ozzy did so one-handed, the other pulling out his newly acquired cell. It was better than his old one was, that was for sure. It was also worth more than he would make in a single pay cheque, and that irked him too. After tossing the two used towels in the hamper, he checked the desk again to make sure he hadn't missed anything.

Nodding to himself upon finding nothing, he made to move to the door out of the room. A sparkle caught his eye, something glistening on the bedside table by Thrax. He hesitated at the door, not wanting to risk going back to that side of the room, but wanting so much to investigate. In the end his curiosity got the better of him as it so often did, and he tip toed over to the end table. The drawer was not entirely shut, and as he looked closer, found a small dark chain was caught on the corner. Quietly, he opened the drawer with a hushed noise; inhaling sharply upon seeing the blue garnet chain the crime lord so often wore. He didn't dare to even glance at Thrax, who still slept soundly on the bed in an exhausted fashion. Instead, he picked it up and stared at it in awe.

The black metal was cold against his palm, and the gemstones glittered in the soft light. They were violet when he held them upwards, but a gorgeous blue when he held it at another angle. It was enchanting, and Ozzy was very much tempted to take it. If he did, it would be worth more than he could ever hope to make in five lifetimes. The officer was torn, and he gripped it harder as he made to put it back in the drawer properly. He wanted to let it go and let it fall back into place, but his fingers trembled and refused to drop it.

He bit his lip, wincing, as it was still sore from earlier.

"Oh, fuck me."

Ozzy dropped the necklace back into the drawer, slamming it shut and stalking towards the door to the room. He didn't look back, but he thought he heard Thrax mutter something in his sleep.

Something akin to 'With pleasure'.

* * *

The officer yawned and stretched, blinking sleepily at his alarm clock. The flashing red letters claimed it was 7:00 am, but his sleep-muddled brain registered only that it was too early to be up. The unrelenting beeping stopped as he slammed his hand onto the button, yawning again and sitting up.

He'd gotten home and promptly plugged the cell phone up to charge, knowing he'd need it to be when he went through everything with more care. The cop had stripped himself of all his things and jumped into bed, no longer tired, but knowing he needed sleep. He hated himself for wrinkling his nose in distaste at his own sheets, and fell asleep thinking of the softness of the ones he had previously been wrapped in.

Now, he woke up feeling more than refreshed, and got dressed quickly. He had to be at the station in an hour to see what cases needed working on, and what, if any, progress had been made on the case with Carl Stevens. He carefully wrapped the obsidian dagger pendant in a cloth, hiding it in his dresser with some clothes so he couldn't get in trouble for it. The cell phone he had been given, though, he did take with him. As well as his own; he needed that to call Reese and catch a ride.

Typing in the number, Ozzy pulled on his shoes and held the cell between his ear and shoulder, awkwardly bouncing around on one foot. Reese picked up after the first ring, "Hello, Reese speaking."

"Man, you don't gotta answer it like you work in an office."

A sheepish chuckle, "Sure I do! What's up, Oz? Need a lift?"

"You know me too well. I'll be outside i-"

"Already ahead of you. I've been waiting here for five minutes."

And so it was, Ozzy stumbled out his door in a rush to meet his friend. The cop started talking as soon as he slipped inside the car door, "Five minutes? What made you think I'd call you for a ride?" Reese shrugged and began backing out of the space, pushing his glasses up on his nose, "It's you Ozzy. That's just… how it goes with you, I guess." Ozzy laughed and grabbed a doughnut from the box Reese had in the middle of the dash. Despite the protests that he should wait until they got to the station, to make it fair for everyone, the officer selected a jelly-filled powdered one, stuffing it into his mouth with relish. The ride went smoothly, and as the car pulled up to the station, Reese asked a question.

"So… is everything okay with you? Are you going to tell the chief?"

Ozzy scrunched his nose up, but sighed at a look from his companion. He tried not to feel guilty, but didn't succeed as he answered, "Everything's fine… I got some good stuff to tell Silver. But… Reese, come on! We could totally take him down!" The redhead shook his head, pointing his finger hard at the cop, "No, you just want to. It's going to get you into trouble, Ozzy. That's all I'm saying." At a look from the shorter man, Reese raised his hands in a surrendering fashion, "I won't tell him. It's your ass that's going to get it. But if this gets too far out of hand… I will do something about it."

Hunching his shoulders, Ozzy slumped in his seat and licked the white powder off his thumbs, feeling for all intent and purpose like an insolent child. It might be okay to tell Reese a few things…

Not everything though. Lord, no.

He looked around, making sure no one was listening. Reese, sensing he was about to hear something top secret, did the same, and then leaned closer. Ozzy pulled out the piece of paper he'd ripped from the notepad in Thrax's office, the address bold against the white paper. "I found this. I don't know what's going down here, but I'm going to check it out." Reese took the piece of paper, scanning it with green eyes intently. "Where'd you get it?" He passed it back. "Ah… that's for me to know. Ignorance is bliss, Reese." That earned Ozzy a snort from the drivers seat, as Reese pulled the key out and unbuckled himself. "Fine. But seriously… tell Silver."

* * *

The day went by rather uneventfully, with Ozzy being assigned to office duty because of his past disregard for the rules. He had been about to show Silver the phone and the pictures, but the man yelled at him so hard about following rules he didn't know what would be better, keeping his job, or nailing Thrax. So he had kept quiet and endured, before being tossed out to do filing with the new intern.

Now, it was around 5:00 pm, and the sky was a seeping with orange. Reese had gone out with the rest of the forensics team for drinks, he of course being the driver. Not before apologizing profusely to Ozzy for being unable to give him a ride home. The officer had laughed and they parted on good terms, one walking and one driving.

Ozzy walked home from the station, and all in all it took around an hour. He missed his car… but well… it was part of the reason he was now on office duty. But that, he thought miserably, was a thought for a different time. He stopped at the grocery story on his way home, and picked up some soup that was on sale, a few bags of chips and a jug of milk. He swore he would drink it all this time and get his moneys worth.

After getting home, he put a can of vegetable soup on the stove and put away his purchases. While he waited for the soup to heat, he flicked on some TV and popped open a bag of sour cream and onion chips, sighing in appreciation for the divine creation that was fried potatoes. Ozzy watched a rerun of Doctor Who absent mindedly, and when his soup was ready he ate that slowly.

The papers he'd stolen had been carefully placed on his dining room table, though still unlooked at and unorganized. The officer was annoyed by the slight disarray, but was nervous about looking at them. What if they were really important? Things that Thrax needed… He coughed on his soup at the thought, cursing himself as he did. "Don't be stupid, Ozzy," he muttered, drinking the last bit of soup right from the bowl. He tossed the dishes into the sink to do later, knowing if he didn't look at the papers, it would annoy him until he did.

Getting to work, he removed the phone from his pocket and sat at the table, simultaneously looking at the few papers he'd pilfered. Most of them were just names, but what kind of list the names made up was left to be guessed. Two lists were quite lengthy, written in an almost delicate scrawl. It wasn't curvy or bubbled, but it was easy to read and slightly slanted, something of a cross between writing and cursive. Some of the names were crossed out in red pen; others highlighted yellow, or even scribbled out entirely. Ozzy retrieved his own notepad from his jacket pocket and started rewriting the information, intending on destroying the originals just in case Shar came snooping. He wrote all the names down, struggling with the few that had been scribbled over in a rush.

He didn't have WiFi in his apartment, so he couldn't look up the names just yet. Ozzy would have to go to the coffee shop to look them up; and even then… he wrote down another name absentmindedly, the regular Google search might not even help him. The people were probably involved with criminal activity, but he didn't recognize the names, so they'd have to be under the radar. Which meant no newspaper or tabloid would have gotten ahold of them to write an article.

Ozzy wrote down the address on its own piece of paper, circling it himself to remind him it was important somehow. Whatever was going on at that place, he wanted to check it out. In addition to the address, he spotted some small, very delicate scrawl, unlike the rest of the writing on all the other pages. It was a date and time, and upon further inspection, Ozzy found it to be exactly a week from then, at 10:00 pm. Resolving to search up the address later, he moved on to the pictures he'd taken on his phone.

By the time all that was done, it was time for him to sleep. His mind was swimming with meetings and details no cop could dream of finding out, secrets and dark plans he shuddered at. He stacked the original copies on the table neatly and deleted the photos off the cell, still refusing to think of it as his own. Despite that, he took it with him to his room and set the alarm on it instead of his clock. Hopefully a good morning tomorrow would help him through his day.

* * *

The days flew by, and Ozzy did his best to decipher and take notes on the information he'd taken from Thrax's desk. So far, he'd found one list to be made up of dealers, some of which were dead and most of the others in jail. The few that weren't out of commission, it seemed, were about to be. Ozzy had already sent in an anonymous tip to check up on those people, which Silver had promptly acted on. All the other names on the second list were not in the system, which lead him to believe something bigger was going on. The only thing he'd been able to find out was that the names were Russian. Not much else had been useful information, most of the addresses and stock houses were already known and being staked out. Again, the few that weren't Ozzy sent to Silver by anonymous calling. Other than that, he did his work and kept his head down.

Reese of course was still trying to get him off of the whole 'I'm gonna catch Thrax!' deal, but… well, Ozzy wasn't one to give up easily.

The officer of Frank currently stood pressed up against the wall of his apartment, trying his hardest not breathe too loud or move a muscle. His landlord was pounding his meaty fists on the door angrily, yelling that the rent was still far overdue. Ozzy had been about to leave and catch a bus close to where the meeting was supposed to take place. At least, he assumed it was a meeting; he'd looked the address up and found it to be a supposedly abandoned warehouse for a city company. Mr. Stevens hit the door harder, shouted obscenities that made even Ozzy shudder at. It stopped after a few minutes, and a paper slid beneath the door. The cop waited until the heavy footsteps had stopped and a door was opened and closed, before snatching the envelope from the floor. He used his teeth to start a rip in the paper and then tore the rest with his fingers, removing the letter to inspect it. His eyes widened considerably; it was a notice.

An eviction notice.

"Damnit..." he cursed, groaning and looking upwards. He glared at the ceiling, as though glaring at God, angry at the unfairness he seemed to be raining down on him. After he calmed down, he put the letter in his jacket pocket beside his badge, letting his hand slide along the gun hidden there too for comfort. If he had a job, there would be some place he could afford. Ozzy didn't dare think of a place cheaper than the one he currently paid for. With a shiver, he exited his apartment quietly and ran down the stairs to the bus stop.

By the time he got there, it was already past 10:00 pm, much to his annoyance. He'd had to wait for a bus that didn't match up with the other nearly as well, due to his landlord. Ozzy had walked the last few blocks to the warehouse, very aware of the fact that it was a bad area of town he'd gotten himself into. Some of the doors were boarded up, and a few of the smaller stores hadn't even bothered to replace the glass of their broken windows. The cop arrived in front of the condemned building and instantly felt a jolt of fear. The windows were all boarded up entirely, and the fencing around it had been replaced. It was odd, if nothing was going on here, that the owner would do something like that. Ozzy clambered up the fence with ease, dropping to a crouch on the other side. There were no bushes to conceal himself, just a vast stretch of concrete leading to the front of the building. From the front, there were no cars, but he suspected there would be in the back.

A light suddenly flicked on in the basement window, and Ozzy was instantly drawn to it. Cautiously, he pulled out his gun and jogged along the fence to the side of the building, finding his suspicions to be correct. Just outside an open garage were three vans, all inconspicuously parked beside one another. The cop shook his head, but continued on into the building. His steps echoed softly in the empty room, and so he took smaller, slower steps to compensate. Ever careful, he finally slipped into an open door that lead to a dark hall, broken glass and dust everywhere. Kneeling, he found several footprints in the dust and filth, leading him onwards. Ozzy followed the trail until he came to a large room, a single table in the middle. Two delivery trucks were inside, backs opened as several crates were lifted on and off. A few men were organizing what was inside; firearms.

Suppressing a gasp, Ozzy hid behind the wall, breathing hard and wiping sweat from his brow. This was serious. He peeked again, this time keeping himself in a good position to bolt if necessary. There was some serious machinery, all of them top notch and exceptionally deadly. And who stood at the foot of the table inspecting every gun?

Why, Frank's best crime lord, the infamous Thrax.

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**A/N:** Sorry guys... I think the chapters are getting a tad bit short, but I'll work on it. Please review and tell me what you think!


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** WooWoo! Sorry for the long wait guys, the holidays were a busy time for me! That, and this chapter is really quite plotty. I don't think there's anything all that serious when it comes to smut here... but, there's a touch of the fluff I've been dying for, an intro to a new character, and a serious event near the end. Oooo... someone has it out for our little Ozzy and Big Daddy Thrax!

**As a sidenote,** I'm also thinking of taking a break from this fic for a week or so to write a Hobbit fanfic... I'm totally in love with BagginShield. Also... what WERE Kili and Fili up to when the ponies got snatched? Check out my favourites if you're looking for some good fics!

Mischa: Thank you so much! That was really flattering. My smut was good? I was uncertain of it, but thanks! I didn't mean to make Ozzy too femme... thanks for letting me know! I'll try and make him 'buck-up' the next chapter.

**WARNING:** Violence

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Okay.

Everything would be okay.

Just breathe, Ozzy, just breathe.

But oh Lord, that was hard to do in the given situation. Holding the gun upwards beside his face, he clutched it tightly in sweaty fingers, breathing hard. This was a big meeting. The firearms that were being dealt out were weapons of mass destruction to a small city like Frank; if they got out onto the street, it would only be a matter of time before chaos followed. There was already such little regard for the rules… with guns like this added to the equation, even the police force would be useless.

More so than they were now.

Ozzy swallowed thickly; that was a dangerous thought. His ears perked up upon hearing people raising their voices, and he slid down the wall a bit and peeked around it again.

Thrax was holding up one of the guns, a rather large and scary looking one. He looked furious, and he shook the weapon in the air as he took a threatening step towards another man. Said man had a grey suit on, a black tie crisp against the white shirt. He flinched back from Thrax, and his moustache quivered as he prepared to speak. "I assure you, sir, they are all of the highest quality." His voice trembled just as much as his facial hair, and the 'sir' had a taste of sarcasm to it. Ozzy wasn't the only one who noticed it, and he gasped audibly as Thrax backhanded the man with the gun in his hand. The gentleman fell back with a loud thud, covering up Ozzy's noise, and held his now bleeding nose. The crime lord glowered down at him, golden eyes raging. "If this is your highest quality, it is far less than what you promised. I have no further use of them. Or you." Glaring, he turned to his men, who stood awkwardly at the mouth of the truck with a large box suspended between them. They looked uncertain of their next actions. "Put them all back. I have no need of weapons of this caliber, nor associates."

The man gurgled on some blood, spitting it out noisily as he sat up. "W-wait! There's more! There's more behind the other crates!" He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket and held it against his nose, standing with difficulty. "Sir, there's more behind there. Forgive me for taking you as a fool." He bowed his head deeply, encouraging more blood from the broken nose. Twisted his lips down in distaste, Thrax gestured for his men to get the crates from the back.

Ozzy blinked and whipped around the corner, thinking hard. Weapons of what caliber? He knew a good quality gun when he saw one, even from a distance. Those guns were incredible in every way, and very, very illegal. He looked around the corner again, making sure to stay in a running stance. A small handgun like he had would be no good in this kind of situation.

The crime lord tossed the gun he was holding on the table with a loud bang, unfazed that the sound was similar to a gunshot. He looked around, eyes narrowing as they scanned the dark shadows of the room. It would do him no good for there to be any snitches, and Ozzy only just managed to hide behind the corner again before he took note of him. When nothing seemed amiss, he turned his attention back to his men, who had just set down a very small crate on the table in front of him. Thrax grabbed the crowbar and slammed it under the box, wrenching it open. "You'll find these in smaller quantities, but the quality-" "Oh, shut up!" Thrax hissed, whirling on him with crowbar in hand, his teeth gritting, "I've heard enough about quality from you to know what to expect." The man swallowed, wiping a bit of blood from his face with the cloth in his hand.

Thrax turned back to the crate, muttering obscenities and opening it fully. Tossing aside the various padding, he laid hands on a very small gun. Removing it carefully, he scanned it from every angle, looking at every piece with utmost intrigue. "And this would be…?" "Ah, it's a new model. We imported it from Germany as a favor. It was still a prototype when we got it, but we've perfected the design." Thrax nodded, still holding the weapon as ginger as a mother with a child. "It seems solid enough. Heavy for its size, however." "Yes, it is due to the materials we had to use. The shooting itself causes mass damage, but… well, the heat a single bullet fires is incredible, so we had to use a material not ordinarily seen in guns. It doesn't take in heat nearly as well, but the weight was increased." The crime lord hummed in his throat, and popped the cartridge open. He collected a few bullets from the crate, noting their weight in his palm before putting them inside. He closed it off and pointed the gun upwards, swinging it around and pointing it at people and objects in the large room.

"Ah, sir, I wouldn't..." The gun pointed at him, and he gulped audibly, "you see, the blasting power is enough to go through even the toughest shields. It can go through concrete like it's nothing." Thrax closed one eye and took aim at the man, before flicking the gun back and spinning it idly into his opposite palm, removing the bullets in the next instant.

"This is what I need. Unload the last few crates boys."

The men did so with haste, passing by the moustached man without a care. The man in question looked at Thrax, flabbergasted, "B-but sir! That's all the weapons we have! The money I require for a shipment of those guns is-" "The exact same amount. You came here and put me through the trouble of seeing these... things. I don't want them, I want these. The price we originally agreed on will be sufficient." The mans' face turned red with anger, and he pulled out a gun from his the inside of his suit jacket. Raising it at the crime lord, he glared and hissed, "I don't think so! I will not leave here empty handed!"

The anger was contagious, and Thrax caught it with added amounts. His knife slipped into his palm with a flick of his wrist, the blade heating up quickly. "You're not leaving empty handed. We agreed on a price, need I remind you." The man laughed loudly, but didn't dare take his eyes of the figure in front of him. "You think a knife will save you? I think not!" And with that, he shot the gun.

Ozzy yelled as the trigger clicked, taking a step forward from his hiding place.

The yell echoed through the room, and all eyes turned to him. Mouth still open, the officer stood like a deer in the headlights, his own gaze falling on Thrax. He only just managed to tear his terrified eyes off of the man in time to bolt around the corner, narrowly dodging the two bullets that were instantly fired after him.

"Find him! He's a snitch!" The man in the suit had dropped his gun to the ground, and ran to the table in an effort to retrieve a new one from the crate, but Thrax grabbed him. Pressing the glowing red blade to his neck, he spoke, "You would have shot me. I want you to know it would have done no good... and that shit like that is why men like you don't last long." With that, he sliced the skin, dropping the man to the floor. All the men stared, some in the process of leaving the room.

Thrax raised his knife, the blood boiling off of it in the form of thick steam from the heat, "You all work for me now. Find him."

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Ozzy ran as fast as he could, his gun still clutched tightly in trembling fingers. That was too close, and he wasn't out of the water yet. His legs carried him through the halls at speeds he didn't know he was capable of, winding through the corridors in directions he hardly took note of. Each step took him further into the condemned building, the dust thick around him and light growing dimmer the farther he went. He rounded a corner to come face to face with two men, both of which looking right at him.

"There he is, shoot!"

The shot rang through the halls, and Ozzy dove to his knees around the bend to avoid it. He slammed his knee into the wall and gasped at the pain, cringing as he jumped to his feet and continued to run. The voices behind him gradually faded with each hall he ran through, and he came to a stop in a stairwell.

He looked up, the many leveled building giving a horror movie impression. Shivering, he moved beneath the stairs and crouched there, breathing fast and unable to think coherently Ozzy was just starting to catch his breath when a man stopped in front of him. He was yanked to his feet, the delicious smell of musk and aftershave filling his senses. The cop looked up into the face of Thrax, who glowered at him with golden eyes.

"What the hell are you doing here, Mr. Jones?"

The grip on his front tightened considerably, malice dripping off of every word. Ozzy glared up at the crime lord, grabbing the mans hands and pulling them off of him. Not without much difficulty, but he felt strong as he stood at his full height. "I think the question is, 'what are _you_ doing here?'" He held up his gun and pointed it at Thrax, his hands steady despite his inner trepidation. The taller man narrowed is eyes and let his knife slip out from beneath his cuffs into his hands, the blade still glowing faintly from earlier."That, is none of your business. You just ruined this entire operation. It took my months to get him to meet with me in person," he took a threatening step towards him, "and now you'll have to pay for that dearly." Ozzy returned the glare and got ready to pull the trigger on his gun, "Fuck you!"

It didn't take long for Thrax to deduce Ozzy was about to shoot. Not only would that alert everyone to their whereabouts, it would make him an easy target if the bullet hit its target. Both of them would die, and there would be no way to avoid that. Not to mention... the crime lord furrowed his brow, clutching the knife in a careful grip as he thought out a plan. Certainly, he was not going to die yet. Not today.

Thrax slashed upwards with the knife, slicing the cops hand and knocking the gun from his fingers. Blood welled up from the wound, the skin burned slightly though not entirely; the blade had yet to heat up to its full capacity. Ozzy tried to grab the gun back from the air as it fell, but gravity got the better of him and he stumbled to the side, which Thrax took full advantage of. The crime lord punched his side hard, the force of it knocking the breath out of the cops lungs and sending him crashing into the wall. The smaller man came back quickly with a high kick, managing to connect as a sideswipe and knock the taller man slightly off kilter. He hissed in retaliation, slashing forward with his blade and finding only air. Having ducked, Ozzy grabbed Thrax's hand and twisted, but instead of finding himself in control, the man had somehow slipped around him and held him in a vice-like grip, making his struggles useless.

"If you're going to kill me, do it already!" Ozzy hissed, squirming in the other mans grip and clenching his fists in anger. "So eager for death... a little pain first, I think." With that, Thrax spun the cop outwards, not unlike in a ballroom dance, before pulling him back and landing a punch square across his jaw. The smaller man slammed into the wall, a groan escaping his now bitten lip, disoriented from the blow. The crime lord cocked his head and paused, having heard steps not far away, in a distant hall approaching quickly. He delivered several more punches in that time, not giving the officer any time to react. Two men burst into the stairwell as he threw the last punch, Ozzy falling to the floor in heap without a word.

Turning, Thrax wiped the blood on his fist on his trench coat, his expression passive as the other men arrived at the same time, guns drawn. They looked uncertain of themselves, like they didn't know what to do. One man eventually stepped forward, "So uh... what should we do with," he gave a harsh kick to the cops ribs, making the injured man inhale sharply, "scum?" Thrax gave a start, and stepped between the two men out of reflex before giving the man a crack with his fist. "This man is of no trouble to us now. Take a look if you think I'm wrong." His voice was deep and dark, a challenge to the men which none were keen on accepting. It took more than a heartbeat for one of them to respond, and when he did, it was one of the new guys Thrax had only just acquired. He grabbed the cop and looked at his face, bruised and broken. The others saw him too, many of which had been at the meeting with Variola the week before. Thrax let him drop Ozzy to the ground, keeping his gaze locked and cold on the men. "Load up the cargo onto our trucks. Clean this place up. If there's even one bit of evidence after the next hour this building is going up in flames. With you in it."

Once the underlings left, all of them in a rush, Thrax knelt down to inspect the officer. Blood trickled from small cuts on his brow, his hand still bleeding profusely from the knife wound. His dark skin was marred with splotches of purple and blue, already blossomed beneath the skin. Swollen and broken, the man hovered on the brink of consciousness, and the crime lord did not envy him in the slightest. With a sigh, he scooped up the man gently, holding him close as possible to his body in an attempt at discretion. The crime lord left the building, trusting his goons would get the job done. Either way, he'd kill one of them tomorrow to make a statement; but he knew they wouldn't fail a task so menial.

Thrax slipped outside into the night air, relishing the cool breeze on his face and the sweet, fresh air in his lungs. He moved straight towards his Saleen, hidden inconspicuously behind one of the many vans parked outside. Ever careful, he opened the passenger side door and put the cop into the seat, leaning over him to do up the buckle. Ozzy moaned gently in pain, his eyes glassy behind puffed lids. Thrax paused in his motions, waiting for the man to wake up and berate him, but got nothing other than ragged breathing. The crime lord closed the door softly, and got into the drivers seat without flourish. Pressing a few buttons on the dash, he typed in a phone number onto the small screen connected to it, speakers emanating the dial tone. It took a few moments, the car already driving on the road when the person picked up.

"Hello?"

It was a females voice, not overly cheerful nor curious. Just so; almost monotonous in tone.

"It's Thrax. I have somebody who needs your help."

Now there was a chuckle, the voice changing altogether. "Oh? Just somebody?" There was the sound of fluttering papers in the back, a few 'beeps'following, "Not you again, is it? I already told you not to get shot."

"No, it's no-"

"I told you, I said 'Thrax, don't you get shot, bec-"

"I wasn't sh-"

"-ause you are reckless and stupid. Getting yourself int-"

"Shut-up!"

The voice went silent, the papers ceasing movement before picking up again. The woman sighed tiredly, "So it's not you? Good. Who is it then?"

Thrax looked over at the man in the passenger seat. He knew his name of course, but... well, 'who was he?' indeed.

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Thrax arrived at the doorstep with Ozzy in his arms, the darkened doorway casting them both in shadow. The night air caressed his skin and left an icy chill, cold fingers seeping right down into his bones. He knocked three times and then rang the doorbell, waited a few moments and repeated the knocks. The door flew open, a small girl standing at the entrance.

At least she appeared to be a small girl, to anyone who got a simple glance. She was however, much older than she appeared; her height of 4"5 an easy contribution to the mistake. She had long black hair and almond shaped eyes, green as emeralds. Her countenance was one of pride, and she carried herself like a Queen despite her stature. She smiled, and the beauty of it was blindingly so, stunning in every aspect.

"Thrax! Long time no see."

"Indeed."

Thrax stepped into the house and instantly went down the narrow hall; the small house as well known to him as the back of his hand. He moved to the basement with the cop in his arms, and rested him on the first cleared medical table he could find. He stood back as the lady moved to take a look, her hair falling about her shoulders in a glorious obsidian curtain. Her voice was somber when she spoke next, inspecting Ozzy's face carefully, "What in heavens name happened to him?" She began working right away, pulling her hair back into a tight bun and slipping on a set of scrubs from the side. She had, as Thrax described it once, 'an obsession with cleanliness that border-lined insanity', as proven when she washed her hands twice in ice water and soap. "He took a few hits to the face. There's a knife wound on his hand," Thrax stepped over to the opposite side of the table, towering over her by more than a few feet, "As well as a kick to his ribs, although I don't know how hard." The girl glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling, "And just who, pray tell, inflicted these wounds?" She continued to work as she waited for her answer, wiping away the crusted blood from the smaller mans face. She had just started putting alcohol on the small cuts when she received it. "I did, Ariadne."

Ariadne did not look up this time, but rather continued to finish her work. After placing a few small bandages on the facial wounds, she checked his hand. Her eyes narrowed at the wound, and she glared at Thrax as she looked up, "I see. And you used that blasted knife of yours, didn't you?" She shook her head and moved to the wall counter across from the table. She hopped up onto the counter with ease, and took a small bottle off the top shelf. Reading the label and finding it to be the right one, she slipped off the counter and back to the table, pouring some onto a small cloth as she did so. "You know I hate that blade. It almost cauterizes the wound, but not quite. Meaning slight burns and heavy bleeding in one. It's a bastard of a knife, Thrax," she eyed his sleeve warily, "The knife from Hell, in fact." The crime lord merely rolled his eyes, turning to take a seat in one of the few chairs in the basement. Ariadne just shook her head and started dabbing the wound, doing so for several minutes. She wrapped the wound efficiently, and then checked out the rest of him. She handed a small clipboard to Thrax along with a pen she produced from what seemed to be thin air, demanding silently that he fill it out. It had boxes for information on the patient, and one for the person who brought said patient in. Thrax filled both out without complaint, leaving the information he was uncertain of blank. Granted, that wasn't a lot.

"So the only big thing is his concussion I suppose. He'll need to be woken up every few hours. Other than that, we'll just keep him hopped up on pain killers to make it easier on him."

Thrax nodded at her in thanks, handing the board back to her and putting the pen on the nearby counter. Ariadne looked at the forms intently, standing in front of him now. She raised an eyebrow at one of the boxes, "'Accident'? What part of this was an accident?" Thrax shrugged easily, "He was in the wrong place at the wrong time." The girl nodded once thoughtfully, nibbling on the end of the pen unconsciously, "And why was he in the wrong place, I wonder?" For that one, the crime lord remained silent, letting her read the rest of the form quietly.

The doctor nodded her head, a few strands of hair slipping free of the bun, "Okay, sounds good. I'll question him when he wakes up, so you can go do what you need to do." She checked her watch, sliding her sleeve up a bit, "You'll need to come back for him tomorrow around noon though; I have other patients to look after." Thrax looked around at the empty beds, four of them, and was about to argue that she had no other patients, but decided against it. Instead, he merely nodded and hummed assent, before making to leave.

"Actually though," she called after him, "I have one more question. None of these wounds are going to scar him at all, not even the knife one. You deliberately beat him to the point of unconsciousness, and then brought him here to get fixed up. So why?"

Thrax paused halfway up the stairs, murmuring softly over his shoulder, "I have no idea."

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**A/N:** Okay! There! Again, a tad short, but... I figured I should update. Reviews make me happy!


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Thanks so much yet AGAIN for reviewing! I appreciate it, and the more I get, the faster I'll update!

taco234: :O Thank you so much! I like the story, too. Keep reviewing!  
Death Note Mystery: Here's the next chapter! I know... I made Thrax sort of a bastard. But he has his moments. Especially in this one. ;)  
HardCandy23: Aww, thank you! Much appreciated! I plan on writing this one 'till it's done, so have no fear!

**WARNING:** Dark themes, abuse, swearing

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The crime lord sat with his feet propped on his desk, his dark leather boots glistened with polish. His eyes were cold and calculating, as he stared down his guest. Rather, she would have been a guest, if not for the fact that he didn't treat his guests nearly so bad as he was about to treat her. The woman was becoming increasingly useless to him, and he sighed deeply, pressing his fingers into his temples as he leaned forward slightly.

"We've talked about this before. You do what I tell you to."

The woman remained silent, her broken lip and steadily blackening eye giving her a solemn expression. She kept her hands on her lap, twisting a small piece of her broken dress strap between her fingers. The man glared at her suddenly, and the shiver that coursed through her body was a welcome sight to him. Good. She should be afraid.

"Did you hear me?" He whispered calmly, standing slowly. His steps were cold thuds on the wooden floor, and he came to stop beside the trembling woman. Softly, he rested his hand on her shoulder, where a bruise was forming from when he'd grabbed her earlier. He knelt down beside her, tossing a bit of dark hair out of his eyes as he did so. Tenderly, he reached up to her downcast face, running the back of his hand down her cheek soothingly. Despite his caress, she merely swallowed thickly, closing her eyes and letting a single tear fall from her eye. "I don't want to hurt you. Why do you make me hurt you?" He whispered, grazing his thumb gently beneath her darkened eye, making her flinch away beneath the light touch.

"Look at me, dearest."

She looked up, in no way only partly because of the firm hand pushing her jaw upwards. He looked at her, his expression cold, and his voice deceivingly soft. Just when the woman was about to blink, he backhanded her so hard she was knocked to the floor from her chair, a choked cry escaping her red lips. The crime lord glared, freezing her in place as he advanced on her.

"I asked you to do one thing. Just one, simple thing. I asked you to find his weakness. I asked you nicely." He kicked her again.

"I'm not asking anymore. I'm telling you. Find out what he cares about most. If you don't…" the sentence was left hanging, but that night the mansion was filled with nothing but pain filled cries, and at the end of it all, a sorrow laden sob, breaking the silence created by fear.

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Ariadne sat at her computer, typing up some documents. She had just finished fixing up another client, this one with a gunshot to his shoulder. Thankfully, it hadn't torn through anything important, and the wound itself was clean. After removing the bullet and making sure it wouldn't get infected, she wrapped it all up and presented him with her fee. She didn't know what gang he was from, and she wasn't all that interested. The information she needed was personal to the individual, and as long as she got her money the rest of it didn't count for anything. Of course there were the regulars, with stab wounds or slices, and then the more serious ones, the close calls that were a life or death matter. She didn't ask questions, simply handed them the forms and took care of them, whether they had the money on hand or not. If they couldn't pay up, she didn't help them the next time it happened.

And if people didn't like how she ran her business, well… that was really no concern of theirs. She made enough money that losing one or two customers was no skin off her back.

A low groan broke her out of her trance, and she blinked tiredly at the computer screen. She stood and stretched upwards, weary from lack of sleep. Rubbing at her face, she chuckled to herself, knowing she shouldn't be harping on Thrax to get proper sleep if she didn't either. How hypocritical. Slowly, she headed from her office room down the stairs to the main floor, and from there to the basement, braiding her hair thoughtfully as she went.

Thrax was a difficult man to understand, and even after so many years of being in his service, dare she say being his friend, she still didn't have him figured out. He had never brought in anyone other than himself for help, though certainly more than a few from his gang were brought in by others. His knife wounds were a commonplace injury at her makeshift hospital, and they annoyed her greatly. She tried her damnedest not to let it mar her opinion of him, though it became increasingly difficult the more patients she lost to that terrible thing.

Ariadne walked into the room and washed her hands idly, another groan escaping her patients lips. Drying her hands nimbly, she headed over to the bed and looked at the patient, pursing her lips as he unconsciously tried to play with the bandages on his hand. Firmly, she separated the two limbs and then checked for fever, and anything else he might be afflicted with. Fortunately, besides his concussion, he seemed to be doing well. Speaking of, it was about time to wake him up.

"Hey. Wake up sleepy head." She shook his shoulder gently, cautiously, so as not to hurt him further. The man blinked his eyes open slowly, wincing at both the light and the pain. He tried to sit up, and Ariadne made sure he went at a good pace, and then picked up a small white pill and a Dixie cup of water, which she presented to him with a simple, "Take this."

He looked at her skeptically, eyes narrowing in suspicion. At least she thought they must have both narrowed, seeing as one of them was nearly entirely swelled shut.

"Who are you?" He asked, licking his chapped lips and looking her up and down. The crime doctor put her hands on her hips and leaned forward a bit, glaring a bit, "I am the one who made sure you got fixed up. If I was you, I'd listen to me." He made a hum sound in his throat, but made no move to take the pill, which she still held in her now outstretched hand. He looked at her defiantly, not moving his eyes from her green ones. Ariadne held his gaze, and finally, exasperated, "Listen, you can take this by yourself or I'll knock you out and force feed you myself. Either way you're taking it. It's just a pain killer, I promise. That cut," she motioned to his hand, "Is going to burn like a bitch when you come to your senses entirely. It won't be fun for either of us." The darker skinned of the two nodded his head absently in submission, taking the pill with his good hand and swallowing it without the water. He still took the cup however, as his throat was really quite dry. Ariadne took the cup back and threw it out, proceeding to organize some paperwork on the counter.

"My name is Ariadne, do you remember how you got here?"

Ozzy looked over at her from his place on the bead, noting that her height was severely lacking. Despite that, he could tell she would take shit from no one, and that was something he respected.

Back to her question, how _had_ he got there?

The cop glanced at his hand and scooted back on the bed, sitting with his back against the pillow and his head against the board. It wasn't a conventional hospital bed, and he wasn't in any sort of gown. Rather, he was in his boxer shorts and various forms of bandages, from the ones on his torso, to his hand, to his head. The gauze was itchy, and demanded that he pick it off, but he dreaded the short woman's' wrath, so he held himself back.

Well, from what he could remember... he'd been running through that warehouse. The guys had been there to pick up the guns, but they'd seen him before he could correct his mistake. But it wasn't them who'd caught him... no... it was Thrax.

"That motherfucker."

Ariadne turned with a raised eyebrow, her expression confused, "I'm sorry?"

Ozzy glared at the blue sheets, fisting them and reveling in the pain that seared up his arm from his wounded hand. Anything to expand his anger. "I said," he repeated, "That motherfucker. It was Thrax. He did this to me." Yeah, he remembered now. He remembered how the bastard had beat the ever living shit out of him. He remembered the cold look of... _disdain_. But no, it wasn't even that. The guy couldn't even give him that much. He had been entirely non-challant about it. Like Ozzy didn't even matter.

The man seethed.

Ariadne returned to her papers, but began asking him questions, all the necessary ones she asked all her patients when she woke up. "So you remember why you're here... do you know your name?" Ozzy blinked at her like it was simple, but his pause was cause for her concern. He hurried to answer before she could try and make a diagnosis, "My name is Ozzy Jones." She checked a paper and nodded, dark braid coming loose and letting hair spill down her shoulders. It was so familiar... "Good, and your address?" He answered. "Parents names?" Again, a quick answer. The questions came quick, but Ozzy answered them just as quick, though he could feel sleep edging up on him again. When he thought he might pass out, the woman threw him a query that made his breath catch. "Do you know how you _got_ here?" The officer growled in his throat, coughing a little as a result, but answered, "I told you already. That motherfucker Thrax." Ariadne refused to let a smile grace her lips, because while it was indeed humorous, it irked her more. "No, that was your answer for who _did_ that to you. I'm asking you how you _got_ here." Ozzy blinked at her, suppressing a yawn as he thought. Well... he didn't really remember much after being beaten to the floor. Looking a little sheepish, he responded slowly, "Well... I mean, I guess..."

"It's safe to say you wouldn't have been able to take care of yourself. People would have asked questions. People would have found out what you were up to. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out you weren't supposed to be there, Mr. Jones." The woman stood up and walked to the end of his bed, where she put her hands on the bottom board and leaned forward intently. "So, I'll ask you again. How did you get here?"

Irritated, Ozzy glared at her and fisted the sheets, ignoring her look of annoyance as his bandages shifted slightly, "I have no idea, okay?!"

Now it was Ariadne's turn to be irritated, and she marched over to him and pulled him towards her with a strength he would never have guessed her to have. "There's no need to shout!" She yelled in his face, her green eyes furious, as she let him drop back and tried to get a hold of herself. After smoothing out her hair, which she angrily unbraided, her gaze downcast as she muttered darkly. Ozzy watched her, just as upset but somewhat curious. It took her a moment to become composed, but she looked up again with a stern face, "Thrax brought you here."

It shouldn't have been a surprise, Ozzy guessed, but it was. The shock of it made him try to breathe and talk at the same time, sending him into a small coughing fit that made his side ache despite the pill earlier. Ariadne handed him a small glass of water, which he took and drank, wiping his watering eyes.

"You listen to me good, Mr. Jones. Thrax brought you here. Yes, that _motherfucker._ He brought your beat up ass to me to make better, and I fixed you up just like he asked me to. He could have left you there. Left you for those bastards to beat on, and maybe even kill. But he didn't. He brought you to me."

Ozzy shook his head and snarled right back, matching her animosity in equal parts, "_He_ was the one who did it! Why would he care in the slightest if I died?!" Now, the woman paused, her hardened features growing gentle as she considered him carefully. "I have no idea," she said softly, before turning hard again, "But whatever his reasons were for saving you, he had some. Let me tell you something before you sleep. Some of the men Thrax brought with him were the same men at the first meeting you want to." Here, she raised her hand to shush him, as the cop opened his mouth to speak. "Yes, I know about that. There isn't much about you I _don't_ know, Mr. Jones. Those same men would have recognized you, and you know they would have. Thrax beat you to a bloody pulp. By all rights, it should scar you for life. But he held back the right amount. You were unrecognizable. He made it that way." She looked at him, watched as he looked down in thought, desperately trying to find a retort. Ariadne made to leave the room, picking up a few papers as she neared the stairs.

"Why do you think he did that?"

And with that question left hanging in the air, Ariadne climbed the stairs with hushed steps, closing the door behind her and leaving Ozzy alone to consider. Despite his tiredness, Ozzy was unable to sleep for hours after that, one question running through his mind. Why _did_ Thrax do that?

* * *

Thrax was out for a drive a couple days later when his cell rang. He smoothly let the Saleen fall to a slower speed and took a glance at the dash. He half expected it to be Shar with news from Variola, or even Ozzy, ready to chew him out. Instead, it was Ariadne, and with a sigh he pressed a button on the screen.

"Hello, Ariadne."

"Hey motherfucker!"

Taken aback, Thrax stared at the name for a long time; never had the girl used that kind of language so casually. With a raised eyebrow and surprise in his voice, he returned his eyes to the road and answered to the insult, "What did you call me?" There was sarcasm on the end of her tone when she answered, a slight giddiness to it that suggested giggling, "Isn't that what all the kids are calling you these days?" Here she burst out laughing, clear as a bell and pleasant as the midday sun. The crime lord chuckled himself, letting a rare small fall on his lips, "Not to my knowledge. Anyone who says that has a death wish." "Oh, you already beat him almost to death. I wouldn't worry about it, too much." Ah, so it had been Ozzy. He should have known. "Of course. Now, what can I do for you, my dear?"

"Yooooooou," she sing-songed, "Can come pick him up anytime now!" There was the sound of shuffling papers and a breaking glass sound, and then the other phone was dropped abruptly. In the background, Thrax listened to fast footsteps and then a muffled 'Ouch!', followed by an angry, 'Pick this up and fix it! Good Lord!'. Raising an eyebrow, the crime lord let his smile widen when an out-of-breath Ariadne returned to the phone. "Seriously. Anytime. Come get him."

"Oh, I don't know. I'm busy at the moment. I have a meeting tonight, and the last time I took him to one of those, it didn't go so well."

An exasperated groan, "I'm not asking you to take him with you to the meeting. Just come get him. He's driving me crazy! My policy is to not let them go until they're totally healed up or the person who dropped them off comes to get them. That's you Mr."

Thrax leaned on his free hand thoughtfully, driving with only one and coasting down the road. The wind that ripped into the Saleen was cool on his face and he inhaled the fresh air lovingly. It wasn't a big deal, really, he supposed, thinking about it carefully, if he were to pick Ozzy up. It just meant the officer would have to confront him, because he knew that he would. There was no way a man like Ozzy would be able to resist. Still, he might try to retaliate, and Thrax wasn't about to take that. He'd done what he had to do, that was all. He looked into his rearview mirror, golden eyes staring out at him. He'd done what he had to, he repeated to himself, hardening his features and watching the image mimic him. There was nothing else to it. It was just business.

"I'll come get him in an hour, can you handle him that long?"

"If you can do it, I can. Just hurry up, okay?"

In the background, before she hung up, he heard Ozzy yell out indignantly, 'He does _not_ handle me!'.

* * *

When Thrax came to get Ozzy that day, it was the middle of the afternoon. The sun was on its way down the sky, and everything was still warm from basking in its rays. Ariadne lived in a small house on the outskirts of the city, so it had taken him a decent amount of time to get there. When he did, he mechanically went to the basement, using the hand sanitizer Ariadne demanded everyone used before opening the door. What he saw made him stop and stare, gold eyes widening.

Ariadne was standing on the counter with a broom, poking at Ozzy, who had somehow managed to climb up onto the cabinets and was now squished impossibly between the ceiling and the top of them. They didn't acknowledge Thrax's entrance, so he simply watched, a small grin edging onto his face. It was growing by the second.

"No, no! Move your foot left an-"

"If I do that I'll get more stuck! This is all your fault!"

"What?! My fault? No way, you were the one who climbed up there!"

"Yeah, but it was _you_ who told me to kill the spider!"

"That thing was huge! It was a monster!"

"Yeah well... just get me down from here befo-"

Ozzy looked down right into Thrax's face. The taller of the two was chuckling deeply, growing louder and louder, but stopping right before it became an all-out laugh. He looked at the two, eyes crinkled slightly in the corners from humor, and walked over to Ariadne.

"Before what Ozzy?"

Thrax put his hand on her shoulder, and the small woman all but screamed. Now Thrax really did laugh. Ariadne hit his chest repeatedly, while he held his sides, eyes closed and shaking. Ozzy remained stuck up on the cabinets, looking down at the scene with something akin to disbelief. The guy could laugh? Since when? It wasn't unpleasant, really... in fact, the cop found he rather liked the sound. Deep and oh-so manly, and it was _genuine_. That had to be the best part. There was no sarcasm or mirth, just happiness. If he were being truly honest with himself, he might even have admitted that the only thing he _didn't_ like about it was that it wasn't him who made it happen.

But he instead chose to stamp on those thoughts, making sure they never saw the light of day. It did not, however, keep the flush from his face as he tried to squirm out from between the ceiling and counter. He was being ignored, and that suited him just fine. Screw them both, he didn't need their help. And by screw, he actually meant fuck. But not in the literal sense.

Not at all.

The crime lord stopped laughing when Ariadne began to pout, sticking out her lower lip like a child. He patted her head, standing up straight and smiling at her. "It's been a while. I needed that, thank-you." She glared at him playfully, "It's not like I did it on purpose. Believe me, if it was up to me, you would never laugh again." It was meant as a joke and was taken as such, and the girl began picking up papers that had at some point been knocked to the floor. Thrax turned to face the problem at hand: an irritable cop stuck in a place nobody had business being. The smile had faded to his usual smirk, which Ozzy narrowed his eyes at.

Sauntering over, Thrax leaned against the counter and peered up at him, "Do you need some help, Mr. Jones?"

"Nope, I got this all under control." Ozzy was lying through his teeth, and it didn't take a detective to know that. But Thrax simply hummed and inspected his nails, looking everywhere except the cop. This suited the smaller man just fine, as it gave him the opportunity to try and worm his way out without being worried about appearances. He took advantage of that, and began squirming backwards, sliding inch by inch away from the wall, but somehow into a tighter position. After a few moments, he was breathing heavily, and stopped to gasp in pain as his arm twisted painfully. Then, he groaned when he heard a voice whisper oh-so close to his ear, "I can help you, you know." Ozzy opened eyes he didn't know he'd closed, looking right into the other mans face. Good lord he was gorgeous; he would never get tired of seeing Thrax. Wait. Yes! He was tired of seeing him! Seeing him _not_ behind bars, that is...

"I already told you, I don't need your help." He wiggled again, wincing.

Thrax smiled a secret smile at the cop, leaning in and licking his ear with a grin, "Oh no? I think you do. In more ways than one." With that, he reached up, having stood up on the counter, and grasped the other man around his middle. He slid one hand down to behind Ozzy's knee, and kept the other where it was. "I need you to bring your left leg up, and turn your torso as much as you can towards me. And please don't make me ask twice." Glaring, the cop did as suggested, knowing somewhere in his heart he would never get out of this without help. With a jerking motion, Thrax somehow managed to yank him out, pulling the man into his arms and keeping his balance all at the same time. Ozzy let out a yelp that was entirely too femme for his liking, but resigned to pretend it never happened.

The crime lord stepped off the counter onto a chair and then to the floor, making to set the other man down. As he did, he made sure to run his hands over Ozzy's ass, giving it a pinch that made the officer jump.

"See? There you go. All safe and sound on the ground."

"Hey! That rhymed! And don't think I didn't see that, Thrax. Keep it G in my house, you got it?" Ariadne shook a pen vaguely in his direction, shuffling through some papers and clearly looking for something. The bigger of the two men nodded his head even though she couldn't see, and then glanced at Ozzy. He mouthed 'later', before taking a note out of his trench coat and signing it with a pen from the counter. He then took Ozzy's arm and made for the exit.

"Wait! You have to sign-"

"Already done, on the counter. Your money has already been transferred into your account."

Ariadne yelled after them, but Thrax wouldn't hear it. He just guided Ozzy outside to his Saleen, waiting for him to be buckled up before speeding off down the streets.

The cop could only think of the spider he had yet to kill. He also wondered whether he should mention it.

The crime lord could think of only three things. One, getting Ozzy into bed. Two, dropping him off afterwards. And three... he had a meeting to get to.

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**A/N:** Thanks for the reviews guys! I'm sorry I had to be so dark in the beginning, I really hope the attempt at humor brightened it a bit. I swear there'll be sex next chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:** I am so sorry for the long wait, and I really hope you like this next chapter. I don't really want the whole story to be about sex... and I'm not too sure if I'm good at writing it, so just let me know what you think.

Also, I just wanted to say I'm really excited for the end of this fic, and I hope you all stick around to see it.

thewannabe: Thank you so much! I was overwhelmed when I read your review, thank you so much! Let me know what you think of the sex, will you please?  
Westleign: Oh my, thank you! I know what you mean with the AU, I don't generally care for them either... but this story HAD to be written The bunny would not leave me alone. Again, I hear you with the OC's, and I really didn't want them to be a 'main' part of the story, but they have purpose where they are. Please keep reading!

**WARNING:** Sex, language

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* * *

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The Saleen drove smoothly down the paved street, sleek and very out of place in the low-class neighborhood. Ozzy had the brains to at least try and look small in the passenger seat; he didn't need anyone saying he had been with Thrax.

The driver in question was entirely at ease; driving with one hand and leaning on his other, elbow resting on the open window. There was a breeze, only slight compared to earlier, and it made his braids flutter gently. It also sent a whiff of his glorious scent to Ozzy, who was trying desperately not to enjoy it. Unfortunately, things seldom went his way, and all too soon he found himself longing to be closer to the origin of said smell.

Neither had said a word since they entered the car. The cop didn't know what to say, and the crime lord didn't have anything to say at all. It created a silence that was both unnerving but easy at the same time. The silence itself wasn't uncomfortable, but Ozzy was. He itched to say something to the man, anything at all. Maybe even get a few answers to his various questions. But he hadn't seen him since the guys fist had been in his face, and he hadn't enjoyed that in the slightest. The smaller man knew he had to be wary; if that was how Thrax treated people in his presence, he didn't want to piss him off.

And he didn't even know when that had happened.

Since when had he started to care? Ozzy didn't know. But he did know that he shouldn't. There was no way Thrax meant anything to him. Nothing in the slightest. The guy was a crook to the extreme. Handsome as fuck, but a crook none the less. So knowing that, Ozzy shrank down even further, and closed his eyes against the bright sun that streamed in the windows.

Thrax was trying his best not to be distracted by the man in the seat beside him. He knew he must be dying to ask questions or yell obscenities, but he was being unusually quiet. Maybe his laughing really _had_ scared him into silence. If Thrax had of known that, he would have done it a lot sooner. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, as they were ridiculous. He had to get back into the right mindset before tonight. That meant stealing something, stabbing something, fucking something... at that he let his eyes wander to the cop. Ozzy was slumped in the seat further than the last time he'd looked, and appeared most pitiful. It almost made Thrax feel guilty for wanting to molest him.

Almost.

The officer still had a slightly puffed eye, and the bruise remained a deep shade of violet. His lip was scabbed over, and apparently his concussion was more or less gone; it had to be if Ariadne let him go. Ozzy's hand was still wrapped and he had a bandage on the left side of his face, just below his eye. Again, he almost felt guilty. But well... he'd done what he had to do, as he kept telling himself. It's not like he meant to hurt the man.

Not really.

As much as he didn't want to assess his feelings for this man, he knew he had to come to terms with it at some point. Before, Thrax had been entirely certain it was just lust and curiosity that kept him coming back. The lust of course, because Ozzy was no loser in the looks department. Even beaten as he was, the attraction that Thrax felt towards him was nearly impossible to ignore. It wasn't just looks, of course, but the fire that burned inside the officer. One of defiance and an angry desire to prove himself, no matter the costs. It had been a long time since he himself had felt determination like that. The curiosity though, that was something special. Thrax prided himself on knowing things about people they didn't want the public to know. He was good at scaring people into telling him things, forcing them to submit in any ways he deemed necessary. But this man... well, there was nothing about him that screamed submissive. This, the crime lord deemed, was the quality that kept him coming back. He wanted to know how far Ozzy could go before he broke.

He would ponder these thoughts more later, though, as he had a plan to brew and execute. The idea was simple: get Ozzy into bed and then leave afterwards. The question was easy enough: how was he going to do it? The answer was far more complicated.

Ozzy looked over at Thrax despite his better judgement, eyeing him carefully from his seat. He looked impassive, but there was a slight crease in his eyebrows, which the cop had learned meant he was thinking. It was one of the few things he could discern, and the only expression he knew instantaneously. Thrax generally kept himself well guarded, and rarely was there a change in his expressions. But if Ozzy had learned anything at all over the hours he'd spent with the crime lord, it was the small quirks in his face. This one rarely boded well for him, and the thought of another beating made him squirm in his seat, and not in a good way.

See, Ozzy was kinky; he'd discovered that in his high school years. Give him a blindfold and a couple ties, he can deal with that. But extreme pain? No thanks. Actually, extreme anything wasn't really his game. Back when he was in school, he'd fooled around with this one guy, and everything was good at first. He had a dominating sort of presence, not unlike Thrax, and that was just how he naturally was. In the bedroom it wasn't any different; the thing was, it went too far sometimes. Ozzy genuinely liked him, so he tried a few new things and found he didn't really mind it at all. In fact, he liked it. But then the pain started outweighing the pleasure, and on the nights when he was allowed to have pleasure, it was never until after his partners. He stuck with it, pleaded for changes in their relationship; he really did want it to work. But the cop knew it wouldn't.

What he wanted... no, what he needed, was someone who could play the roll in the bedroom, and only in the bedroom. What he wanted in sex he didn't want in his everyday life, and that was exactly what he was getting. Ozzy wanted someone to take him out, to be romantic (even though he'd never admit it), and to care about him and not care about anyone else as much. Maybe it was selfish, but... well, after coming to this conclusion, Ozzy promptly broke up with the bastard and moved out of the apartment they had been sharing. The guy wouldn't leave him alone after that for a while, but eventually the door breaking down and slight beatings stopped.

Only thanks to the fact that Ozzy got a gun with his police job.

Now, he looked at Thrax and for a moment tried to envision something between them. It didn't take nearly as much effort as he wanted it too, and the vision came rather easy. Before he could get too immersed he yanked himself away from it all; he wasn't some love-struck chick.

They'd had a fling that wasn't about to happen again. Ozzy would commit murder before it did.

Thrax humbly disagreed.

* * *

At some point they'd driven back to Ozzy's apartment, and the cop got out on reflex and slammed the door. The sudden standing made his head spin, and he leaned against the Saleen momentarily to steady himself. He heard he other door open and close, but paid it no mind as he swallowed hard, blinking and trying hard not to throw up. The sun made him scrunch his eyes closed as he held his stomach, and then it was gone. A shadow covered him, and a firm arm wrapped around his shoulders.

It made his stomach flip flop.

Irritated, Ozzy slapped the arm off of him and stomped to the entrance of his apartment, fumbling for his keys in his jacket pocket. He wasn't going to spare the guy a glance. He didn't deserve Ozzy's attention except when he was on duty. Which he wasn't. So tough fucking luck.

The officer opened the outside door and went up the first flight of stairs as fast as he could without getting dizzy again. After that he turned a sharp right and unlocked his apartment door, slamming it behind him and re-locking it from inside. "He's gonna drive me crazy..." he muttered darkly, running a hand through his dark hair, sighing as he pushed himself off the door and towards his bedroom. Once there, he sprawled on his bed, inhaling deeply the scent of his own things, instead of Ariadne's hospital-like sheets. His own were soft and rumpled, not perfectly clean and stretched across the bed with no creases. Some disorganization was nice, he decided, closing his eyes.

Thrax leaned against his car, smoking and looking thoughtfully up at Ozzy's window. The curtains hadn't moved and no lights had come on, but he was certain the man had gone into his room. He blew out a puff, loving the taste of the tobacco and the slight haze the smoke made in front of him. It was strange, the fact that he hesitated to follow the cop. He'd had every intention of taking him up to the apartment and ravishing him before he got to the bedroom. But being shrugged off so carelessly made him stop. It wasn't often his advances on anyone were denied; he'd often been told his charm far exceeded the norm. And Ozzy just didn't seem that enamored It was annoying and intriguing at the same time. Curious, he wondered exactly how long it would take for Ozzy to give in.

With a last drag on his smoke, he dropped it to the pavement and crushed it out with the toe of his black boot, starting on his way to the apartment door.

When the crime lord got to Ozzy's door, he found it locked. It didn't phase him in the slightest, and it was in a fluid motion that he tried the knob and then slipped his hand to the inside of his jacket, coming out with a gleaming silver key. He put it in the ancient lock and opened it quietly, entering the apartment and clicked the lock latch back into place. It was the first time he'd been into Ozzy's apartment, and he found it was not quite what he was expecting.

It was clean and organized for the most part; more or less empty. Thrax had been expecting something a little more... scattered. Not dirty, necessarily, but certainly a little un-kept; more _full_. But his furniture was simple and he had only the necessities; nothing extravagant like his own home. It was almost monkish with its design, and he deemed it pleasant enough on the eyes.

He pulled the blue garnet chain out of his jacket and took it off from around his neck, toying with it as he investigated. So far Ozzy hadn't come out of wherever he was, but Thrax was making no effort to keep himself quiet. Rather, he was near silent, but it was by reflex and his natural walk that made it so. The crime lord found a few pictures on the fridge, pieces of black magnet keeping them stuck to the off-white appliance. One was black and white, a man in a military suit with a rather proud mustache and stance. It was crimped at the edges and speckled with white where the black ink had faded, along with a fancy scrawl along the bottom. Whatever it said was unintelligible to him, so he left it in favor of another. This one had Ozzy in the forefront, sideways in the frame with an expression of pure terror on his face. He appeared to be grabbing the holder of the camera by the shoulders as another man behind him shot him with a Nerf gun. The colorful yellow and orange 'bullets' were flying through the air, most of them aimed right at Ozzy. The picture made Thrax smile despite himself, but the next made him pause.

To put it simply, the picture was nice. It was one of those kind where the taker of the photo gets everyone to stand together and pose, one seriously and then one or two with silly faces. This was the first, and instead of a group of people it was only two. Ozzy stood in a suit, his arms awkwardly at his sides as he smiled. It wasn't a real smile, because it didn't reach his eyes, and even his stance seemed a bit forced. The man beside him was genuinely happy though, straight teeth and pale in complexion; the exact opposite of the cop. He had red hair, pure like flame, and freckles dotted his nose. His build was that of a hard worker, with thick arms and good posture. Thrax admired the suit he wore, and how nicely it framed his bulk, not unlike the suits his own tailor made for him.

Whoever this man was, he looked happy, while Ozzy stood beside him and looked, for all intent and purposes, melancholy. That in itself made a feeling of concern and distress bubble up into his throat. Thrax swallowed it down, clicking two beads in the chain together to relax himself. His concern was misplaced; Ozzy could take care of himself. He knew that.

Still, a voice in his head said, nobody except him made _his _Ozzy upset.

Ah yes, the joy of being a possessive bastard.

Stretching his shoulders gently, he straightened up and stood at his fill height before heading to the hall where the bedrooms were. He heard a shuffling, and he leaned against the door frame casually as he looked in. Ozzy was splayed across his bed, his eyes closed and his hands clenching and un-clenching the sheets. The blankets were getting tangled around him, and Thrax cocked his head to the side. The cop sighed softly, and shifted his leg upwards, effectively spreading them and giving the crime lord a very nice view. Arrogant smirk in place, Thrax removed his jacket slowly, the sound of heavy fabric scraping over his grey shirt loud in the otherwise silent room. Ozzy scrunched his eyebrows together and opened them slowly, blinking.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep so fast! He knew Thrax had been waiting, and now he knew what for.

Sitting up quickly, he furrowed his brow at the dizziness that flooded his senses, swaying slightly in his awkward sitting position. "Thrax," he started, blinking rapidly and then keeping his eyes closed as he held his head, "I'm really not up for this right now." He opened his eyes to see Thrax had removed his jacket and hung it up on the back of the door, and was now sauntering over to the bed like he owned the place. "I'm not here to negotiate, Mr. Jones," he said simply, putting a knee on the bed and leaning towards him, resting his palms flat against the mattress. "Don't tell me you don't want it."

Ozzy glared at him, clearly irritated, "That's not what I meant. I'm just not up to telling you to 'fuck yourself' right now. I just want to sleep." Thrax was over him now, pushing the cop down on his back. A touch of fear crossed the smaller mans face but disappeared quickly. "I don't think that's it," the crime lord murmured, nuzzling into the side of Ozzy's neck, "I don't think that's it at all."

It felt so nice, and moving just made his head ache... but, but no! "No, hey! That's not... I mean, it is how it is." The cop made to move, but a firm hand on his waist kept him in place, and small kisses peppered his neck, a preemptive strike to his resolve. Thrax nibbled softly, and his fingers slipped into the rim of Ozzy's pants, rubbing the skin of his hip in small circles. Shivers coursed through his body and he groaned beneath the crime lord, clinging to his shirt and trying to remain unaffected. His wounded hand throbbed beneath the bandage, and Ozzy tried to convey this to Thrax, to somehow sick Ariadne on him, but...

Then Thrax bit his neck and the moan that escaped him was not the slightest bit un-wanting.

Smirking, the larger man sat up and pulled Ozzy's shirt off of his head; making certain not to jar his hand too badly in the process. He even, with great care to make it look like he didn't, made sure that the cops head didn't just thump back down onto the bed. Instead, he cradled it in his hands, sinking in for a very wet, open-mouthed kiss. The smaller man sighed into his lips, opening his mouth somewhat grudgingly to Thrax, who took full advantage. His tongue smoothly slid up against Ozzy's, enticing him to come out to play. The cop did not take the bait, but allowed the other man to map his mouth, tasting him with reverence.

It had been a week or so since their last... encounter. During which both had been depraved. Ozzy had been working hard and little time anyways, not counting that he had no interest in anyone at the time. Or now, of course. Thrax didn't have an excuse for not having sex, and as he ground his hips down into the man beneath him, he wondered vaguely why.

But this wasn't a time for questions, this was more of a 'just do it' situation. And oh, did he plan on it.

"Thrax, I do-" Ozzy was silenced by a tongue laving at his lips, and then pushing into his mouth again. They parted after a few moments, the cop panting and dazed, his head swimming. "It's alright," Thrax murmured softly, reaching his hand up to rest on the mans face, "I'll be gentle."

At that, Ozzy growled, narrowing his clouded eyes. "I'm not asking you to."

The crime lord retaliated with a glare of his own, and practically tore away the other mans pants. "In that case..." he grabbed Ozzy's hips and thrust down against him, feeling the growing hardness between his legs, "Get ready to be fucked, Mr. Jones."

Arousal flared through Ozzy just like it had the first time Thrax had touched him, a small spark turned violent flame in mere seconds. He was dizzy, and the hard grip on his body made him ache in both pain and pleasure, but he couldn't tell if it was due to his injuries. His thoughts were quieted as large hands skimmed his chest, passing over his nipples to his abdomen, where he traced the contours of Ozzy's body. It felt wonderful, but he winced as his bruised side was prodded, though he tried to hide it.

Thrax did not fail to see it, and made a mental note to be cautious around that particular area; the bruise darkened the skin considerably, but it was tender, and the pain it would cause him was not the kind of pain he desired. No, there was a difference between pleasure-pain and just... pain. Licking his lips as he looked down at Ozzy, he imagined all the things he could do that involved the sweet mixture of the two, and let out a strangled gasp at what he thought. He was however, taken from these thoughts as trembling hands found their way to his own, taking his wrists and firmly pushing them downward, directing him to where the cop wanted his touch most.

Smirking, the crime lord obliged and moved them down past his navel and into the soft black curls, neatly cared for, that were just above his destination. He felt his own dick twitch in his pants, making him shift slightly as he touched Ozzy. The man jolted and let loose a soft moan, his smaller hands falling away from Thraxs' large ones and clutching at the sheets again. It was a lovely sound, and he so wanted to hear it again.

He started slow, moving one hand up along the shaft of Ozzy's growing erection, and languidly circling the tip with his finger. The other massaged small circles, steadily moving towards his balls, all the time he watched the other mans face. Thrax was entranced by it, how even the smallest of touches could arouse him so. He truly was unique amongst the bed-partners he'd had, and one of the best, though he'd never say it out loud. Ozzy's legs closed a bit, but he managed to keep them parted as a hissed breathe escaped him. A smile quirked the corners of Thrax's lips, and at once he pressed his finger into the slit of Ozzy's cock, at the same time finally reaching the heaviness beneath it. The cop moaned outright, "Oh, please, Thrax... ahn..." It was all he wanted to hear, and he continued for a few more moments before pulling away altogether.

"No, aaah..."

Ozzy tried to sit up, but Thrax kept him down, as much to keep him from shifting too much as to keep him in a good position. As they were, with Thrax between Ozzy's spread legs, it was perfect for what he intended. He stripped himself of his clothes rapidly, not wanting to wait, and he stroked himself as he sat back down. His own cock was hard, turned slightly red around the head. A glitter of precum rested on the top, and he looked at Ozzy to see that his own looked no different. Slightly smaller, perhaps... but this was something to keep to himself. Let it never be said that Thrax purposely insulted another mans manhood.

"Thrax," Ozzy whispered, shivering from lack of warmth around him, still dazed from the pills and his concussion. The crime lord leaned over his face, kissing him with an intensity the cop had never felt before. Braids tickled the sides of his face and he thrust up, feeling the other mans cock against his own. The friction was divine and made both moan, grinding against each other; Thrax doing most of the real movement. He didn't mind, and it didn't take very long for him to want nothing more than to bury himself far inside the other man.

He stopped his erratic movements and steadied Ozzy's hips, looking at him intently and searching his eyes for any sort of sign to stop. He found nothing except lust and haze, which, he was ready to take full advantage of. He wasn't a Saint.

"Jones, do you have something...?" Looking confused, the smaller man bit his lip and moved up for a kiss, letting his hands rove the chest above him. Slightly annoyed at the others state, Thrax pushed the eager hands away and got off the bed and went to the dresser, opening the drawers to look for something suitable. A low keen from the bed signaled Ozzy's displeasure at this, but he made no protest because the other returned fast, with lotion on hand.

It was cold on his hands and it made Thrax shiver slightly as he warmed it up in his hands, spreading the cream around. Ozzy had begun to stroke himself and whine softly, eyes closed and legs spread as he focused solely on his own pleasure. Thrax raised an eyebrow but didn't stop him, and soon he was back in place, nibbling at the cops neck with dark interests. While distracted, he slipped a single finger down Ozzy's cock from tip to root, creating a thin line of glistening skin as he spread the precum. The smaller of the two moaned breathlessly, arching upwards as his hands continued their up and down movements, and again when Thrax lightly grazed his balls. When at last Thrax had come to touch the puckered entrance of his ass, Ozzy was a writhing, near-delirious mess.

Thrax sat back from his leaned over Ozzy position, so he could better see what he was about to do. It would be his first time taking Ozzy, and not his last, he was certain. Were it anyone else, he probably would have simply plowed him down into the mattress, taking what he wanted and giving as he received. He was no thief when it came to pleasure; what he got, he gave back just as well. A small amount of guilt pricked in his mind though, after all, the officer was doped up on pain killers, so he was taking advantage of the situation. But he'd make it up to him...

Starting with a bout of mind blowing sex.

The crime lord began rocking his hips gently, his erection brushing through his own slippery grip with each movement. A hushed gasp escaped his dark lips, and golden eyes peered down between the legs of his soon-to-be lover. He pushed a single digit into the tight hole just barely, only testing out the restrictions he would have to pass. Ozzy scrunched his eyes a bit, and his knees twitched together slightly, and Thrax pulled the finger back, simply circling the opening and spreading the lotion. His own dick now throbbed, hard and ready and waiting. Ignoring his own needs, he took Ozzy in his slick hand and stroked him in time with his prods, earning a shiver and a moan.

He decided it might be better to simply get it done with, and pushed one digit in to the first joint. A pained keen escaped Ozzy's lips and he pulled back, glaring at Thrax through his lust. "D-don't, that... don't." His lack of thought process made Thrax smile a little, and he pulled the cop back and repeated the action after squeezing more lotion onto his fingers. This time, it slipped in easier, but the cold made Ozzy shiver, and he held onto Thrax's arms, curled upwards as he took the pain. It wasn't as though he hadn't done this... but it had certainly been a long time. His hardness wilted slightly as another finger was added after several moments, and the crime lord murmured quiet nothings in his ear and nibbled at his neck and shoulder. Ozzy could feel the other mans hardness, not because it was touching him but because... he could just_ feel_ it. He knew what was coming, and it would hurt a lot. Thrax wasn't exactly small, but he knew how to make a person feel good. Somewhere in his drugged brain this registered and he relaxed, no longer tensing after each motion. Thrax would take care of him. He knew he would.

Thrax noticed instantaneously the change in behavior and it was not something he disliked. His nimble fingers brushed something inside the smaller man as this thought passed through his mind, and he knew he'd found Ozzy's prostate. The cop threw his head back and his muscles tightened, a loud moan escaping his swollen lips. "Ahhn, Thrax..." he clung to him and begged for more in silent gestures, his hips swaying on the bed. The darker skinned man smirked against his neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark and then sucking over the caramel skin, his fingers curling inside the other man. He pressed against the inner walls, rubbing over the bundle of nerves and stroking his cock all the while, turning Ozzy into a moaning puddle of arousal. As lovely as this was, he pulled back and began stroking at himself instead, moaning as he took in the sight before him.

Oh, this was going to be so good.

Pushing Ozzy back, ever cautious of his injuries, Thrax loomed over him on one arm, lining his dick with up with the cops ass. He all but groaned as he slid himself in, the tight ring of muscle giving way after a few heartbeats. After the initial intrusion the rest came easy, and he thrust in experimentally before remembering this could be hurting his lover. Opening his eyes, he looked at Ozzy and all feelings of guilt left. The man had his head thrown back in bliss, his dark hair matted with sweat and his mouth opened in a wide 'O'.

That was when everything became a blur of pleasure.

Thrax kept up a constant thrusting motion, holding Ozzy's head in his hands and kissing him. It was so hot, and the sounds of skin slapping against skin spurred him to go even faster. But he held back, this wasn't mean to... well, further any injuries, so to speak. It didn't take long for the cop to scrape his nails down the crime lords arms, leaving angry red marks in their wake. Thrax growled low in his throat, a gravelly sound that sent only ecstasy through Ozzy. "Ahh, I'm gonnaaaah..." and he kept going.

"That's right..." Thrax bit his lip before continuing, "Come for me, Ozzy."

And that was all it took for the cop to see white.

All the build up that had happened exploded in spurts, a mess of sticky white dripping down Ozzy's chest as he came. He clenched around Thrax, who let out a strangled moan himself as he released. It had been too long for him, and he really had tried to keep his composure, but he lost it. He threw his head back, braids arching back, and rode out his orgasm. Ozzy didn't seem to mind in the slightest, as he continued to breathe hard and held onto Thrax for dear life.

When at last the crime lord calmed himself down enough to think clearly, he found himself still buried in a sleeping Ozzy, collapsed in a sweaty, sated heap beneath him. Breathing still ragged, he removed himself from the man and then the bed, standing on shaking limbs and trembling from his climax. He was hot and sticky, only now realizing that Ozzy's come hadn't just covered his own chest, but a good portion of Thrax's as well. Eyebrow twitching a bit in irritation, he entered the bathroom to clean himself up.

It didn't take very long for him to find the shower nearly entirely out of commission, but he had found a suitable cloth to wipe both them down with. He'd have to have a real shower later, and invite Ozzy to take one as well, as an afterthought. No one should have to deal with a terrible shower. He wet the cloth with warm water and returned to the bedroom, washing the small man carefully. The bandages had been removed at some point in their... previous activities, but Ariadne had given him a few spares for himself, should he get shot and not have time right away to get to her. He used those to replace the old ones, disposing of them before hoisting Ozzy up into his arms. In his sleep the officer mewled and curled tighter to him, and quite regretfully, Thrax placed him beneath a fresh blanket he had plucked from the closet.

This taken care of, it took him a short amount of time to get himself into a more presentable state and take his leave, hesitating at the door of Ozzy's room. He looked back to find him sleeping peacefully, still damp from sweat and warm water.

What exactly did he feel for him? It wasn't what he thought it was in the beginning to be sure. He... cared about him. Ozzy was something special, and he knew that. Thrax gripped the door frame a little to hard, and relaxed himself, resigning himself to recognizing his feelings.

He cared. It didn't mean he loved. No, not at all.

Still, he went back to kiss Ozzy's lips gently before leaving, just because he could.

* * *

The woman watched Thrax leave and was on her cell instantly. Her voice was shaky as she repeated what she'd seen, and what she'd heard because of the open window. Her red lips trembled as she hung up, trying to take deep breathes. Her hand went to her forehead.

What was she going to do?

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* * *

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**A/N:** Okay. There you go. Geez. I'm getting scared too. lol. Reviews pretty please!


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** So sorry it took me so long! Please enjoy this chapter! And review, 'cause I am a review whore. I average 3 a chapter, so I'm pleased with that. Keep 'em coming my lovelies! And I'm sorry for this chapter in advance... don't hate me too much.

thewannabe: I hope you like this new installment!  
SuperNerdy7777: Thanks! I know, it's hard to come by good humanized fics, and I'm glad you like mine so much!  
CuteButTheDevil: Oh, that's a nifty idea! I'll see if I can work it in somehow, but I make no promises. Maybe in a one-shot when this fic is done?

**WARNING:** Language, sexual references

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* * *

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Despite the time he'd fallen asleep, the only reason Ozzy woke up the next morning early was because of a phone call. Groaning, he reached over to his bedside table and fumbled for his cell, coming up empty. An exhausted sigh escaped him and he proceeded to stand and stumble towards his jacket on the floor, and procured his phone from the pocket. Reese's name flashed on the screen, and it vibrated angrily in his hands as he pressed a button and held it to his ear.

"Hello...?"

"Hey Ozzy! Were you sleeping?"

Stifling a yawn, Ozzy nodded before remembering his friend couldn't see him.

"Yeah, but it's okay. What's up?"

"Uh, you work today? I'm here to get you."

Ah, shit.

"Er, I'm actually a little..." he broke off and started coughing violently into his arm, trying to find a way to make it believable but not over the top, "...sick today."

There was a small pause and then Reese answered with, "Alright, well... that's a load of crap. I'll wait ten more minutes and then you have to walk."

"Fine," a pause, "thanks."

After hanging up with Reese, the cop sat back on his bed and sighed, resting his head in his hands. What was going on? His brain was still swimming, but he tried his best to remember everything despite the dizziness. The last thing he remembered for sure was leaving Ariadne to kill the spider by herself. Thrax had brought him home, and then-no. No. It never happened. Panic set in and he bolted upright and began pacing, shaking his head with wide eyes. No, they most certainly did _not_ have sex. He did not like it. He especially didn't like that it was Thrax who made him feel that way. He did not like the way Thrax had said his name.

Thrax said his name.

Ozzy's heart beat a little bit faster in his chest, and a warmness filled him as a flush rose to his face. It had been the first time the crime lord had said his first name. And when they were in such a compromising position... but he couldn't deny that it made him happy. Something about not being just 'Mr. Jones' to Thrax made him want to smile. He frowned instead, irked that he felt that way. Ozzy rubbed the back of his neck and cracked his spine all the way to the top, stretching as he gathered up some clothes to wear. The ones he had yesterday were still clean. As he dressed, he vaguely took note of the fact that he had been washed up after last nights... activities. Only vaguely though, because he didn't want to feel any gratitude for the guy. As he left his bedroom to catch up with Reese, he spotted the white envelope on his dresser. It was the eviction notice, and when he checked it he found the date to be just a few days away. He swallowed and grabbed his jacket, jogging the rest of the way.

Reese greeted him with a knowing smile and a clap on his shoulder as he turned the key in the ignition; never one to waste gas. "Morning Sleeping Beauty," he chuckled, starting into a smooth drive as soon as Ozzy had his seat belt on. "I am so not in the mood for this, Reese," the shorter said with a sigh, though humor laced his tone. Reese looked at him fully for the first time then, and noticed the dark circle under his eye and the white bandage. He hummed in acknowledgement and turned the radio on to a rather chipper station, ending any start of a conversation. Whatever had happened would be spilled eventually, so he wasn't _too_ concerned... not really. But he also knew Ozzy hadn't had his breakfast yet, which meant no coffee, which meant no happy Ozzy. They stopped at a drive through and Reese bought himself a bagel and tea, and a large black coffee for his car partner. The smaller man took it with a nod of thanks, instantly gulping a swig of the hot beverage. The silence was only broken when they parked in the lot at the station.

"So why didn't you want to come in today?"

The question was casual, but both knew the answer was serious. Ozzy didn't quite know how to answer. It was everything put together, he guessed, the wounds and the fact that he had been fucked by the biggest, most bad ass man in all of Frank. Instead of answering in such a way, he was prepared to lie, but Reese spoke before he could.

"Look, whatever is going on with you, it's not good." He gestured to the black circle around Ozzy's eye, mouth frowning in concern. "You're getting hurt, and I _know_ you didn't tell Silver. But..." he trailed off, looking at his lap and rubbing at his hands, "You _can_ tell me, you know..."

The guilt of his secret was heavy on his shoulders as Ozzy looked at his friend, torn between telling him to mind his own fucking business and spilling everything. In the end, silence won out, and he looked out the window. He knew Reese only wanted to help; he really did. But there was no way he could tell him. Finally, he got up out of the car and slammed the door, pulling his coat farther up his shoulders. He went into the station and signed in mechanically, keeping his eyes downcast for the rest of the day.

When at last his shift was over, Ozzy bolted out the door. He hadn't spoken to Reese all day, and he wanted to keep it that way. What was he supposed to say exactly? There really wasn't anything that _could_ be said. Ozzy was keeping a secret from his best friend; one that was hurting him in more ways than he knew. His friend in turn was only trying to help, to shoulder the burden and assist in any way he could. But... it wasn't just Ozzy's reputation that was at stake. It was his life. It was Reese's life, if things turned sour. Hell... he didn't even want to be around if things went bad. But he couldn't risk his friends life, even if it meant he himself got to sleep a little better. As much as Reese wanted to help... he just couldn't let him.

Nothing was worth that.

Sure, they had fights. But all friends had fights. Right? The one big one they'd gotten into had been brutal, but it had more or less resolved itself. There was no need to talk about it. Drix had been to blame for it, and while Reese had been responsible too, he was more of an accomplice. Being part of the law, Ozzy had the mentality that that proved right there he was to blame, but well... Drix was just looking out for Ozzy, by way of Reese, even if the way he went about it was poor, his intentions were good. He had the right motive.

It didn't mean Ozzy felt bad about breaking his nose over it, though.

The rebel cop was just doing up his jacket when a hand fell on his shoulder, heavy, and the person leaned against him in a way that was almost desperate. Ozzy tensed and clenched his fist, ready to bury it the mans face, but turned to see Reese, looking tired and scared. His red hair was messy and he had a split lip, blood dripping down the side of his face. He was paler than normal, and Ozzy grabbed his shoulders and shook him gently, brow creasing downwards.

"Reese? What's wrong?"

The redheaded scientist gave a small quirk in the corner of his mouth, and then something hit him, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He slumped forward, and Ozzy barely had time to catch him before his own eyes widened. Behind Reese was a very short man with black sunglasses, holding a gun pointed at his face.

"Get in the car."

On cue, a grey van with no plates pulled up to the curb, right in front of the station like they fucking owned the place. Ozzy wrapped his arms around Reese, who was still unconscious and all but glared daggers at the man. "I don't take orders from scum, you piece o-" But the gun cocked, and a click sounded. Swallowing thickly, the shorter man got into the car with his friend, receiving no help from the other. The short man smiled from behind dark shades, tucking the gun into his pocket discreetly and getting in the front of the van. It sped away, a trail of newspapers spinning behind it.

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* * *

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"I don't know what you're trying to accomplish, Variola."

Thrax sighed deeply, sipping his alcohol with deliberate casualness. He sat reclined in a pleasantly comfortable leather chair, smoking a cigar and nursing his drink. The dark skinned man was entirely at ease, head cocked to the side leaning on his fist, one leg crossing the other. Variola was perched on the side of his desk, inspecting his own drink and making his wrist do circles, watching the amber flow over the ice delicately. His black hair was slicked back and his eyes were sharp, not their usual laid back pools.

All things said and done, it was the strangest summoning Thrax had had. Variola had called him up in broad daylight, requesting a meeting. At Thrax's mansion, as per was usual, but with the authority that he knew Thrax couldn't refuse him. They'd always been... well, not friends, to be certain, but civil. Civil enough to let the other, normally Thrax, offer up their place for meetings. This was strange, but it wasn't the only thing that was odd.

He couldn't put his finger on it, but the man seemed a little smug. Too smug for his liking.

"That's the beauty of this," Variola murmured, standing up and straightening his shoulders, "You don't have to know. Tonight..." he trailed around the table, coming to stop behind Thrax's chair, where he placed a possessive hand on the back, "you just have to listen."

The hand wandered down to Thrax's shoulder, which it squeezed in a sensual way, before his fingers tightened into a vice like grip that was downright feral. Variola leaned down, his oiled back hair tickling the side of Thrax's neck as he breathed by his ear. "I have some things of yours," he stood up and walked around to the front of the desk, sitting down in a guest chair, "and I know you'll want them back."

Anger ticked at the corner of his mouth, and the unwanted closeness of Variola had sent an unpleasant tingle down his spine. He made certain his voice was steady when he spoke, giving it a sarcastic tone. "Oh? And I suppose you'll now tell me what these things are." Variola nodded his head solemnly, looking down at his lap in momentary discomfort. He straightened out his face and licked his lips, taking his time and choosing his words carefully.

"You have two storehouses on Ainsley. I have men heading there right now."

Thrax raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of his drink, slightly bigger this time. He switched his legs around, getting into a more comfy position. "So I do. But, no longer. They were moved yesterday, when I caught some men sneaking around." Here, he took a long drag on his cigar, humming appreciatively at the taste. "I can't have snoops where they don't belong, now can I?" If that was all it was, there was no problem.

"You have one in Sargeant underneath the deli, and Cliff is currently holding a shipment for you."

Ah, so they'd gotten to Cliff. That _did_ sway some of his plans... regardless, if all they wanted was the shipment, they still needed the passcode from Lawrence across from Maine.

"Lawrence was found dead this morning. I have his head. It's in the car, if you'd like to see it..." Variola gestured behind him to the door of the study, looking entirely too innocent. Thrax felt his mouth go dry. The man was playing with fire, and he should know that a blaze such as him was not to be tested. Fire is all consuming, and he had every intention of getting back his stolen goods, and killing the group to prove it. Perhaps, he thought, swallowing, it was time to make his move. Frank could only support two of them for so long, and if Variola was going on the offensive... so would he.

"I know more than you think. That's just the beginning." Variola took something out of his pocket, a fine chain clinking in his fingers. "There's something else you should know. I happened upon these..." he pulled a folder out of his pocket, the orange stock paper bright in the dim lamp light. He slid it across the desk to Thrax, who eyed it warily. He opened it, and his breath caught in his throat at what he saw.

It was Ozzy of course, there was no question. It was him, tucked into his own bed, exhausted from the bout of sex he'd just had. Thrax knew, because he'd been the one to leave him in that state. There were more, and as he flicked through them, they became more intimate, going back in time to the party they had first met at. One in particular caught his eye, tucked between a piece of plain white paper. He pulled it out to look at it closer, and found that it was a recent photo, the time stamp showing it had been taken not two hours before. It was a little blurred at the edges, as though taken in motion, but there was no mistaking what was going on. Ozzy was laying in a pool of his own blood. He had no shirt, and several long gashes covered his body, over the bruises that were still fresh on his caramel skin. Bile rose in Thrax's throat, and a rage came over him in a wash of heat. The beast inside him wanted to strangle Variola, to cut off his dick and make him swallow it whole.

Instead, he closed his eyes for a moment to clear his thoughts, closing the folder and leaning back in his chair.

"I don't know what you hope to get from this, the same as I didn't earlier. This man means nothing to me." If you so much as _glance_ at him I will stab your motherfucking heart.

Variola clicked his tongue, finishing his drink and placing it on the tray on the desk, straightening his black suit. He shrugged nonchalantly "If you say so. But know that I do intend to kill him when I get back." He placed the object in his hand on the desk as he left, leaving Thrax to stare at it, trembling. Variola left, closing the heavy wood door gently behind him.

On the mahogany desk was the black dagger pendant he had given to Ozzy. It was crusted with dark blood, and a small piece of yellow paper had an address written on it.

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* * *

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Ozzy opened his eyes sluggishly, blinking at the harsh light streaming in through the wall of windows. The door across the way had opened and closed, and a harsh groan echoed in the large room.

"Reese?"

Another low groan, this time almost a mewl, and he knew it was his friend. Ozzy rolled over, wincing and spitting blood out of his mouth, coming face to face with Reese. The redhead looked worse off than Ozzy did, with a broken nose and two black eyes. A tooth was missing from his perfect smile, and his glasses were nonexistent The cop would have tried to soothe the wounds, but his own were numerous and aching, and his wrists were cuffed behind his back. They chaffed, but it was nothing compared to the agony that pulsed through his body with each heartbeat.

They'd been brought to a warehouse somewhere in the city, in broad daylight, and beaten. Ozzy had opted to try and keep Reese out of it, using his sharp tongue to get into trouble purposely. Unfortunately they seemed to guess at his plan, and when they started on Reese, he had become compliant. It was one thing to force them to beat him, but it was a different matter entirely when his actions brought pain to his friends. There was nobody else in the room, and Reese took advantage of it.

"Oz... I... I think my leg is broken," it wasn't the only thing broken either, as his voice gave out close to the end. Ozzy looked at him, trying to edge closer and give him some bodily comfort, but his body screamed at him to stop moving. He was sweating profusely from pain, and he stopping wriggling and panted quietly, pressing his face into the cool concrete. After a moment of quiet, "They used a crowbar Ozzy... a crowbar..." The rebel cop closed his eyes tightly, cringing at the tone. Reese was many things, but a field officer he was not. This wasn't supposed to happen. It was Variola, the bastard, and Ozzy knew it. Out to get the cops and make sure nobody knew about it. It was the only thing he could think of, given the circumstances. There was no way it was anything else.

Unless... his breath caught in his throat.

Unless they knew about him and Thrax.

"Reese," he murmured, trying to sit up, and achieving a small amount of success, moaning as he tried to keep himself from falling over again, "I..."

What could he say? I'm sorry for getting you into trouble. It's all my fault. See, I fucked Thrax a while back and it looks like Variola found out. He's going to kill us now. Sorry about that. Hell no.

But there was nothing else to do, and he spat out another gob of blood, letting his shoulders droop as he whispered, "I'm sorry. For everything."

At the same time, the door opened again and the sound of polished shoes filled the room. Ozzy turned in time to be kicked squarely in the face, knocking him against Reese violently. He groaned and so did the scientist, before Ozzy was picked up by the front of his torn shirt, and thrown into a chair. His hands were uncuffed and then cuffed again so fast he didn't have time to blink, and when he opened his eyes he wished he hadn't. Variola stood in front of him proudly, two bodyguards on either side of him. Behind him, the elavator doors were still open, and another chair was being brought into the otherwise empty room. Another guard slammed the chair down a few feet from Ozzy's, and Reese got the same treatment despite the redheads protests.

The silence following wasn't long, as Ozzy broke it with a snarl, "What the fuck do you want Variola?" One of the bodyguards pulled out the crowbar they'd been beaten with earlier and smacked him across the face. It took a moment for the pain to register, and when it did Ozzy all but screamed. Red clouded his vision as he turned his brown glare back on the crime lord, daring him to do it again. Variola sensed the challenge and smile knowingly, bending down a bit so he was eye level with the smaller man. "I want Thrax's little whore dead, that's all."

There was a sharp intake of breath from Ozzy, and in turn Reese side glanced at him through mussed red hair. His green eyes were clouded with agony, but searched Ozzy's own for the truth. Variola had to be lying, he thought desperately, Ozzy wouldn't... he would never...

But Ozzy kept quiet, and that in itself was defeat.

"If you kill me, Thrax won't blink an eye." Ozzy hissed suddenly, though he didn't sound sure of himself. The lie came out smoothly, and he wished it sounded more sincere.

Variola just shrugged before standing up straight again, "Perhaps. But even if he doesn't, I've still killed two of Frank's officers." He picked a hair off of his shoulder and wiped it away. "Not that you were much trouble to begin with."

Reese made a sound in his throat then, his lean form hunched in an unnatural curve as he tried to sit up. His voice was gravelly, like he was hoarse from screaming. It was possible, Ozzy knew, that that's exactly what it was. "The police will do everything they can to shut you down. We have more than enough evidence, and when we ge-"

"See, one needs witnesses to testify. In about," he checked his Rolex, "an hour, none of this will matter. I'll be on my way, and there will be three bodies for our precious little police department to take care of."

The cops glanced at each other. Three bodies? Reese looked like he was about to ask, but a glare from Ozzy made him hang his head.

"I don't suppose the third body would be mine?" Thrax stood in the doorway of the elevator, leaning against the side casually. The blue garnet chain was wrapped loosely around his hand, and the gun he'd bought from the dealer about a week before pointed at Variola. He looked at his nails and picked something out from beneath his thumb, turning his torso to look into the room. He stared at Ozzy. Golden eyes smoldered, so dark they were near black. The cop had never seen the mans eyes so murky, filled with a rage he found hard to level with. A shiver ran through him at seeing the other crime lord, and he let out a soft sigh of relief, silent and only visible to Thrax, who watched him carefully.

Variola smirked again, and turned from Ozzy to Thrax, raising his own gun and shooting before anyone could take a breath. It hit the side of the elavator and bounced, ricocheting and embedding itself into the wall. Thrax had crouched out of the way, and he cocked his own weapon in a threatening matter. He knew the man hadn't been aiming for him, so why shoot?

When he turned he noticed the top of the elevator was opened to show the various cords, and a small bomb attached to them. Widening his eyes, he turned to try and get out, but Variola was faster. With a single kick, he knocked the dark skinned man into the elevator, pressing the 'close door' button on the side. He kept his gun aimed at Thrax, who could only stare as the doors closed. Ozzy released a cry like that of a wounded animal, lurching forward in his bindings and shouting Thrax's name before he could stop himself.

The explosion happened just as the doors closed, followed by another as the large box fell the two floors to the bottom of the shaft. The last thing Thrax saw before blacking out was Ozzy's panicked expression.

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**A/N:** WHEW. Okay. I'm sorry to leave it there, I really am. I'll update again soon!


	11. Chapter 11

**AN:** I can't believe how awesome you guys are being to me. Seriously, thanks for the reviews. They make my day. I should say though, that this story is coming to an end pretty soon. I do have an end decided, and I do intend to make a sequel to this if there are enough people interested. It might only be a one-shot, but it would be an insider on how everyone's doing. As well, while I was writing this I was listening to You're Going Down - Sick Puppies (Nightcore). Just in case you wanna take a listen while reading.

CuteButTheDevil: I always read my reviews, so no worries there! They're not out of the water yet, but the end is coming! T.T  
SuperNerdy7777: Yep! I have been known to update on occasion. I'm glad you enjoyed it! Cliffhangers are somewhat of a specialty of mine.  
thewannabe: I KNOW WHO YOU SHOULD BE WORRIED ABOUT MOST!  
Guest: Your birthday? Happy belated Birthday! That last chapter can be your present if you want. :) Thanks for the review.  
Amy-Kate-chan Storys: I tried to implement a lot of aspects from the movie in this story in one way or another... thanks for noticing!

HEY GUYS. Also, if you review before the next chapter is posted, on the most recent chapter, I will reply to you in the beginning of the next. I appreciate all the reviews I've gotten! So many, and I couldn't be happier. I'm just sorry I can't update more. Family homophobia and all that.

**WARNING:** Extreme violence. Swearing.

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"You fucking bastard!"

It had only been seconds, and Ozzy was on the floor, squirming furiously to escape his bonds. His face was plastered to the floor, hands and legs still tethered to the wooden chair tightly. His entire body screamed in agony as the rope tore into his flesh, and his eyes began to water as he stared at the closed elevator doors. Variola smirked down at him, turning and placing a piece of coal-black hair behind his ear.

"Now that he is out of the way," he said with a grin, "we can get down to business." He straightened his suit, and hooked the toe of his leather shoe beneath the back of Ozzy's chair. With a heave, he flicked it upwards, and it clattered as it once again sat upright. Ozzy met Variola's gaze with a heated one of his own, a snarl on his bloodied face. He could feel Reese looking at him, getting the hint there was more to this attack than he had first thought.

The cop didn't know what to do. What was he supposed to do? His best friend was in pain beside him, and his... well, Thrax was at the bottom of the building. Dead, or soon to be from wounds he no doubt had. There was no way to tell anyone what had happened. Variola would kill them both, blow up the building, and if any pieces of their bodies were left to find, there would still be no true story. An accident; a random attack on Frank's police force, with one casualty of the gangs' side. He should have known this would happen... but fuck it all to hell and back, did he listen? No.

"I'm going to fucking kill you," Ozzy hissed suddenly, breaking the eerie quiet that had filled the empty floor. His enemy raised an eyebrow, leaning down to be on the cops level before he spoke. "No you won't, because I'm going to offer you a deal," he stood up again, "that you won't be able to refuse." Variola walked around to Reese, whom he began untying slowly. Ozzy was again reminded of the Godfather; and the deals they couldn't refuse wound up in their deaths, as he recalled. What would Thrax say? What would he do? He needed to know... he wasn't there to save him this time. So what could he do?

No. Thrax wasn't dead. Tears stung at his eyes suddenly. He couldn't be dead, because Ozzy was going to be the one to kill him. And he'd be damned if this motherfucker killed _his_ crime lord.

"You look troubled Ozzy, what's on your mind?"

Ozzy whipped his head to the side and winced, eyes going wide when he saw Variola holding Reese against him, the blood from his wounds seeping into the charcoal suit. The cops eyes narrowed then, and he began his struggle anew, "Let him go."

Reese whimpered then, closing his eyes and slumping against the crime lord, crying quietly. He wasn't used to this. He bagged the evidence and ran tests in the lab. He didn't get involved in things like this. He couldn't feel his leg anymore, but he knew it was still there, bloodied and broken. Variola's hands on his waist and shoulder were unnerving, and though the smell of his cologne would have been pleasant any other time, it made him sick to his stomach.

"Ozzy," he murmured, prying open green eyes to look at his friend. Dear Lord, please let them escape this alive.

Variola pulled his gun out of his jacket and opened it, peering inside at the bullets casually.

"So Mr. Jones, I want you to admit something before you accept my offer." Here, he smirked knowingly, as though the cop would jump off a bridge if he told him to. As though he had Ozzy beneath his thumb. Which, Ozzy thought numbly, is precisely where this was going. Sweat stung the chaffing wounds at his wrists, and he licked his lip as he glared.

Variola wasn't pleased with the silence, and hardened his near playful gaze into something sinister. He closed the gun. "I want you to tell this man," a pause, "what's your name again?" The redhead moaned as his head was tilted backwards, and long fingers kneaded one of the bruises on his side. "R-Reese..." Content with the response, the crime lord dug his nails into the skin hard enough to bleed, making the man against him cry out and writhe against him. He smiled sadistically, and did it again, harder this time, before lifting his hand to his face and licking the blood off his nails.

"You sicko!"

Ignoring the outburst from the shorter hostage, Variola hummed in pleasure at the coppery tang in his mouth, again holding the gun.

"It's a pleasure, Reese." And truly it was on his part, as he made the man whimper again. Looking back to Ozzy he sighed and slipped his finger against the trigger, threatening to press it. The sharp intake of breath from Ozzy spurred a dark chuckle from his elegant lips. "No, what I want you to do is tell _him_ what you are."

Variola's smile was sickeningly sweet, as he rubbed a gentle semi-circle into Reese's temple with the gun barrel. Ozzy jerked his body and licked his bloody lip with a shake of his head, "I don't understand what you want from me." The crime lord's lip twitched downward in a frown upon hearing the words Thrax had said to him just hours before. Perhaps there was more to the two of them then meets the eye. Replacing the grimace with a smirk, Variola clarified, "Tell him you are Thrax's bitch."

The blood in Ozzy's mouth seemed even more unpleasant, and he spat some out and groaned as he pulled at the rope around his wrists. He wasn't Thrax's bitch. He wasn't. Sure, they fucked, but it was once! Maybe twice... but it wasn't like that at all. Thrax didn't pay him, he didn't buy anything for him, and he certainly didn't pass him around. The cop glowered at the ground, not wanting to speak but knowing he would have to. He was going to have to tell Reese everything that had happened, and by extension he would tell Silver. Ozzy would be the laughing stock of both the crime and police worlds, and probably be put in jail for it all to boot. "Fuck..."

A gunshot sounded.

Ozzy whipped his head upwards only to see a bullet hole in the floor in front of him, Reese still crying softly into Variola's shoulder while the man held him. If there was ever a a time to speak, now was it.

"I," he grit out, "I am Thrax's bitch."

A laugh, and then, "You're his whore."

A low moan from Reese as Ozzy spoke, "I'm his whore."

"You're his cock-sucking slut."

"No!"

"Say it!"

"I'm his cock-sucking slut!"

The rope came undone, and Ozzy lurched forward breaking the legs of the chair and tackled Variola. Several bullets had been fired and a scream tore from Variola and Ozzy at the same time. Reese collapsed to the ground as Ozzy slammed Variola into the ground repeatedly, the burn in his side spurring the violence of his actions. His voice was growing hoarse and he shouted obscenities as the men threw him off of their leader. Ozzy crawled over to a non-moving Reese, dragging his legs still tethered to the shattered chair legs. The rebel cop shook the scientist gently, mouth hanging open as he panted, "Reese, come on, open your eyes, come on!"

The redhead remained un-moving on the floor, his chest falling up and down in shallow breathes. Ozzy whispered his name with increasing volume, begging him to get up, to move, to speak, anything at all. Green eyes opened slowly, and Ozzy held him in a sitting position and tried to get him to talk.

Variola shook his men off his arms, straightening his suit and wiping a spot of blood off his lip. His eyes were venomous and unwavering, and he turned them away to scan the floor for his gun. Ozzy had his back to him; the crime lord dove towards his gun. Reese clung to his best friends arms feebly, trying to warn him of the danger to come. "Reese, it's okay, it's okay... we're gonna be o-"

_BANG!_

Another gunshot echoed through the room and Ozzy closed his eyes and screamed, expecting excruciating pain.

But nothing.

There was no white flash in his vision, no flare of hotness in his chest, no warmth as his heartblood poured from his chest. There was only the sound of shock and silence, followed by a gasping gurgle.

Ozzy opened his eyes to see Reese staring at him, crimson spilling over his lips and from a gaping hole in his chest. His lips trembled and tears streaked down his face, and Ozzy reached for him, realizing for the first time he had been knocked out of the way somehow. He sat up and crawled over to the man, only vaguely registering the footfalls leaving the room in quick steps. Reese's eyes began to close slowly, choking on his own blood, he coughed violently.

"Oh my God, Reese," Ozzy knelt over him, pressing his hands down into the wound and trying to stop the inevitable. "Please, please, don't do this," he whispered, looking up and around for help, "please, just hold on."

Reese smiled then, a gentle smile, blinking and letting fat tears fall to the concrete floor. He tried to speak, but began coughing again, turning his head to the side and making splatter. Ozzy began crying in earnest, still holding his hands on the wounds and ignoring his own pain.

He looked at the ceiling, "Dear God, please."

But the man in his arms lay still.

Variola had remained in the room, unpacking a bag his men had brought in earlier. His wounds were minor things, barely requiring a thought. He set up the last bomb quickly, pressing the red timer button with a flourish as he stood and stretched. Turning, his handsome face was twisted into mock mourning, and he went to stand at Ozzy's side as he held his friends body.

"This could have been avoided, you know," he murmured, carding his nimble fingers through shock-black hair. The shorter man either didn't hear him or ignored him, just continued holding Reese. Variola didn't understand the attachment to someone who was dead already. Suddenly feeling cold, he fisted Ozzy's hair and forced him upright, no heed for the wood splinters that dug into the mans legs as he did. The cop yelped, and turned with a punch to hit Variola in the chest.

The crime lord stumbled backwards with a growl, dodging another weakened blow with ease. He weaved through the attacks and landed a kick square against the cops chest, sending him flying backwards to skid across the floor in a pool of red.

"Never again, will you be a pest to me. Never again will Thrax."

Variola stalked towards the still working elevator pressing the close door button. Not before snarling, "Goodbye, Mr. Jones."

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Thrax woke up with a low moan.

He coughed to clear his throat of dust, shifting and feeling bits rubble fall off his back. Blackness engulfed him, but his breathing echoed off the walls, and he knew he was enclosed within the shattered elevator. He moved onto his hands and knees, closing his eyes and just feeling.

There was a dull throbbing in his head and a sharp pain in his arm when he moved it, an ache sitting heavy on his chest. Thrax inhaled as he edged to sit up, cautious not to hit anything in case it was unsound still. The top of his braids brushed the ceiling and he froze, holding air in his lungs and waiting before releasing it. This was not to be rushed. He had to be calm.

But Variola...

Dammit, how could he have been so stupid? To think that Ozzy would be safe if he got him involved. There was no way he wouldn't have been noticed, and the knowledge that it was his fault was scarring. He cared about the man, he now knew. More than he had ever intended, and far more than he had ever hoped to care for anyone.

He loved him.

A sharp intake of breath at the thought, which came out in a pained hiss as he clutched at his arm. He could feel something wet plastered to his skin, and carefully removed his jacket in the dark. The leather slid off his arms with ease, though any movement with his left hand made his breath catch. Running his right hand over the wound, he found a deep gash in his arm, sliced in the fall by a shard of metal. Doing the only thing he could think of, Thrax tore a piece of his lower pant leg off, the sound loud in the silence of the rubble. He tied it tight around the cut, not daring to try and pick anything out of it in the dark. When it was done, the make-shift bandage was tight around his arm and beads of sweat rested on his forehead. He was accustomed to pain, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt just as badly.

Pulling his trench coat back over his shoulders, Thrax lifted his hands to the ceiling. Cold seeped into his fingers and dry dust scraped against his palms. Jagged concrete threatened to trip him as he felt his way across the room, where his fingers found the metal of the elevator door. His eyes saw nothing, complete blackness the only thing he could see, and it was disconcerting. He slowly sat down on the uneven floor, removing a long metal rod from beneath him to his lap. Perhaps he could use it later. Right now, he had to find a way to light the darkness.

The crime lord searched his jacket, wincing as his hand ran over his ribs, which were cracked from the kick Variola had delivered. His hand emerged with a pack of smokes, a cigar, and a silver lighter. He flicked it open and tried to light it, the click sounding dull to his ears. There was no light, and he shook it to see if he could hear the liquid inside. There was nothing left. Irritated, he threw it hard against the wall, hearing the hinges snap and the metal clatter to the floor. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and sighed, thinking hard. What else was there?

And then, with a rush of annoyance at his stupidity, he removed his knife from the confines of his sleeve. It started slowly, the blade heating up in gradual increments, but soon it cast a fiery glow on the rubble around him. Now he could see, and he stood to his full height upon realizing he could.

Gold eyes scanned the room, searching for an exit. The top was entirely destroyed, revealing broken cords dangling in the shadows, and sharp metal shards embedded in the walls. Thrax clutched at the front of his shirt over his heart, thanking his luck he was alive. Stabbing the knife into the stone in front of him, he returned to where he'd been sitting to collect the metal rod, and brought it back. He thrust it between a crack in the rubble, and then grabbed his knife again. His arm throbbed steadily as he readied himself to make the jump to the top of the box. Taking a few steps back, he darted forward and used the rod as a step, using it as a spring to reach just below where he'd been hoping.

Long fingers hooked onto the edges of the small opening, and a gasp escaped him as pain shot up his arm. He grasped at nothing, discarding the knife with a flick of his wrist to gain more leverage. Veins in his neck became visible, and with a heave he pulled himself up and over the edge.

Thrax breathed heavily, panting and clutching his arm in pain. His hair fanned out around him in the dust, the bombs remains scattered about him cast in a surreal red glow from his knife. His eyes were drawn upwards towards the top, where there was nothing but black as far as he could see. Ozzy was up there somewhere, and his friend too. Gritting his teeth, Thrax stood again, picking his knife up as he went. Not daring to stop and rest for fear of being unable to continue, he leaped upwards at the cords, grabbing onto them as best he could.

He fell with a loud crash, groaning and shutting his eyes tight. He glared at his injured arm, having put too much weight on it. He could use both hands to climb this cord. Slipping the knife partially back into its protective sheath, the light dimmed significantly. Thrax repeated the motion, this time using his legs and right arm only. Opening his eyes, he found himself dangling on the cord with relative ease, and ignoring his aches and pains began his ascent.

He had to get to Ozzy before Variola killed him.

There was no fucking way he was going to let him die.

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The room was dead quiet, not even the wind rustling the transparent sheets over the broken windows. The light of day was starting to fade, and the blood on the floor had begun to dry. Ozzy no longer moved, choosing to remain sprawled on the floor and accept his death. His eyes were clouded over, and he thought of nothing at all.

Reese's body lay unmoved from the center of the floor, the pool around him darkening into brown rather than red. The bomb sat in a black backpack on the floor, the bright red numbers slowly ticking down the seconds. Ozzy didn't care anymore, and as the time clicked onto two minutes, he closed his eyes. Reese was dead. He'd been conned, used, and left to die. Variola hadn't even left him with dignity. The last thing Reese had heard was the truth from Ozzy's own lips: he was a crime lords whore.

There was nothing to live for anymore, not for him. Even Thrax was dead, and well... he didn't want it that way. This close to what was sure to be his death, Ozzy could at least admit that to himself now. He didn't want anything bad to happen to him. Sure, he'd spent the last few months doing everything within his power to get evidence to send him away forever, but... something had grown between them. He refused to go so far as to say love. But there was something.

But it wasn't as though he would swoop into the room suddenly and save him. It wasn't like he would carry him to safety, ignoring the serious injuries he himself had obtained. This wasn't a romantic drama where the movie ended with a passionate kiss at sunset, both lovers swearing their undying loyalty to each other.

No.

This was real life. This was in the city of Frank. This was the room he would die alone in. Where his best friend had died to save his life. Where Variola had made his final move, and thrown Thrax to the side, finally taking what he had worked for. The city was his, and with the government so corrupt as it was, the city would crumble.

The last good people of Frank would leave or die, and the remains would be nothing worth fighting for. Variola would grow far on money and power.

Ozzy drew his legs towards his chest, the wood tied to them scraping along the floor. He opened his eyes as a slamming noise echoed off the walls.

It took all his energy just to raise his head, but he managed it, recognizing the sound as coming from the blown elevator shaft. Despite his earlier willingness to accept death, a coil of fear grew in his stomach. The blackened pieces on the wall trembled, ready to fall apart with the next crash. the noises continued for a long time, and then there was silence.

Ozzy had just relaxed again when there was another loud slam, and the glowing edge of a red blade protruded from the closed doors.

"Thrax."

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**A/N:** Okay. There. I am so, so sorry for the wait. You have no idea how sorry. Also this chapter might be a tad lame, and I'm sorry for that too. It's coming to a close guys, really, really fast.

:( I know he was a relatively useless OC in the story, but in my head he had a back story and a purpose and... oh, Reese.

Reviewers get replies!


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** Here we are. Another chapter. Just a few more to go guys, just a few more. I ended this one decently, so no cliffhanger. I figured I put you through enough of that drama. Haha... but you know, reviews make my day.

BWPR: Thanks! Let me know what you thought of this one.  
SuperNerdy7777: Yes, angsty is the correct term. Thanks so much! There will be about two chapters more I think.  
Amy-Kate-chan Storys: Thanks for the review! Yes, the plot thickens...  
CuteButTheDevil: I'm glad you were as attached to Reese as I was. I can still make a one-shot with him if you'd like. I bet you'll be the only one to read it. XD  
thewannabe: Thanks so much! :3  
Darkdolly: The only reason I wrote this was because of the lack of Thrazzy fics... I plan to make a few more I think.

**WARNING:** Swearing. Violence.

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Thrax knew there was a bomb set up. Variola wasn't the type to do a job half-assed, and if part of the building was blown, the rest would be too. In this case, intending to kill anyone left inside. He held onto the thick black cord with his legs, wrapping his injured arm around it awkwardly. Even the slight weight he put on it sent sharp pangs through his body and made sweat bead on his dark skin. With his good arm, he attacked the inside of the elevator doors in a fury, scraping away the flaking black pieces of metal and scarring the unblemished metal beneath. The explosion had damaged them enough that it was easier to do, but not easy none the less.

He didn't have very much time, and he didn't pause when he smashed his fingers into the metal on accident. He released a howl and kept going, finally wedging the blade entirely through, blocking all light from the inside. There was no way to put his weight against it without falling, and Thrax knew he'd have to jump to the hand-width ledge to do it. Closing his eyes, his brow creased as he took a small breath, before cautiously stepping out with one leg. The muscle his other leg bunched, straining against his skin beneath black pants as he held onto the cord. It wasn't enough, and he started to slide down. He refused to show fear and let go of the blades hilt, holding on with that arm and letting the useless one dangle. Not slowly, then. This was an all or nothing jump. Closing his eyes, Thrax let himself get used to the black before feeling along the ledge with his foot. When he found what he deemed a suitable place, he leaped.

The doors moaned beneath his weight and his large hands scrambled for grip as his body began to fall backwards from the hit. He managed to wrap his fingers around the hilt of his knife just in time, and steadied himself before evening his breath. He couldn't hear anything on the other side of the door at first, and he rested his head against it to help calm himself down. Dimly at first, he heard soft beeps coming from the other side. The bomb was on a set timer. Adrenaline surged through his veins again, but he had to keep a level head, for Ozzy's sake.

They weren't dead yet, there was still time.

Gripping the hilt carefully with both hands, he began to push. At first there was no visible change, just darkness as before. But the more pressure he put against it, pushing it hard to the side, the more change started to happen. The doors began to creak open, and a slice of red light lit the room with an angry glow. Thrax pushed harder, putting his all into it and crying out as he did.

With a groan he let go of the blade, and the doors slid back into place. Resting against the wall, the crime lord huffed, clutching at his injured arm and trying not to panic. He could do this.

He could save Ozzy.

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There was no way. It just couldn't be.

But there it was; the famed crimson blade, slamming through the gap between the elevator doors, beginning to melt the metal itself. Ozzy's mouth went dry, and he tried to call out but all that escaped him was a pained gasp. Blood loss was finally catching up to him, and he was exhausted. Even his limbs weren't reacting the way he wanted them too; he couldn't even crawl anymore. But Thrax was coming. It would be okay. Despite his situation a smile crept onto his face, turning his grimace into something else. Everything was going to be okay.

A loud cry sounded through the doors, muffled by the metal. It was a deep baritone and Ozzy knew it was Thrax. Something was wrong. He watched as the knife again made itself known, the tip searing the grey metal a dark smoke colour. He wanted to scream for him to let him know he was here and alive, but his throat was dry. Swallowing pained him, like a million needles were being stabbed into his neck at the same time. His Adam's apple bobbed heavily and he managed to call out only barely.

"Thrax!"

The banging stopped and silence fell, and the cop began to quiver. It couldn't have been his imagination. And then there was something else, like the weight of a thousand worlds had been thrown against the doors. They began edging open steadily, grating against the ground and screeching like a banshee. The glow extended until two dark-skinned hands wound their way between the two. Thrax's nails scratched the doors like claws, his face contorted with agony and determination. His strong jaw clenched tightly and he released a breath in a harsh puff of dusty air. The door was open enough for him to work his way through, and he did so, dropping his blade to the ground with a hiss and a clatter. Ozzy felt his vision begin to fade and he blinked rapidly in an attempt to keep it, his lips mouthing words he so desperately wanted to say. Thrax struggled through and stumbled to the ground, landing hard on his side in a heap of black leather. Resolving not to make another sound, he grit his teeth and came to his feet on trembling legs, golden eyes scanning for any sign of Variola.

As he had anticipated, there was nobody from the rival gang present. There was a lot of blood, and it didn't take long for golden eyes to fall on a body. Rushing forwards, he fell to his knees and prayed it wasn't the worst. Flipping the man over, he found it to be Reese, Ozzy's friend. The larger man exhaled sharply, but found relief heavy in his heart. This man was dead, but the selfish part of him was only happy to see that it wasn't Ozzy. A hint of guilt tainted his feelings of quiet elation; this man didn't have to die either. From what he knew of Reese, he hadn't deserved this. The crime lord looked up sharply, realising that Variola must have taken Ozzy somewhere else. That bastard, leaving him for dead. What would happen to him? Would he sell him to the highest bidder? Torture him? Use him for his own terrible desires? A flare of hatred seared through him, and he swallowed as he stood again. He wouldn't let that happen.

He was about to leave when a quiet moan reached his ears. Thrax tensed, and turned on his heel to look at Reese. Surely, he'd been dead. But his gaze found another body, this one shaking in a pool of deep red.

"Ozzy!"

Thrax raced to the mans side, not caring for his own injuries. He collapsed to his knees and instantly searched for injuries. It was all internal from what he could tell, and there was nothing he could do about it. Ozzy stared up at him through half-lidded eyes, trying to speak and only making himself cough. The crime lord placed a large hand on his bruised face, looking into his eyes and speaking softly.

"I'm going to get you out of here, understand? You're going to be okay." And then, because he wanted Ozzy to know it with all his heart, "I will never leave you."

He was certain Ozzy understood at least a little of what he'd said, because he seemed to calm down and relax in his arms. He began to whisper a jumble of words that made no sense to Thrax in the slightest. Letting go, he removed his trench coat gingerly and spread it on the floor, moving Ozzy onto it and wrapping him up as best he could. He was about to pick him up when a word of Ozzy's mumble made it through coherently.

"Bomb."

Thrax turned just as he slipped his arms beneath the bundle in front of him. A large suitcase was set up and a timer above it read ten seconds on the dot. The beeping was louder and more insistent, and he realised it had been there the whole time. Hauled the man up into his arms, he took a few steps towards the elevator before realising he couldn't go that way. The stairs would be blocked too, if Variola was any genius. Then the only way out was...

The crime lord rushed towards the wall with the elevators, the bomb only a few feet to his left. Clutching Ozzy even tighter, he tossed his head to the side to clear his braids from his line of sight. Not waiting any longer, he bolted towards the window, limping all the way. Thrax closed his eyes and ducked his head down as he exploded through the window in a shower of glass. Behind him, the bomb ticked down to zero and the explosion was devastatingly loud. Concrete crumbled and black smoke filled the air as fire threatened to char them out of existence. Time slowed as Thrax and Ozzy descended through the air, propelled by the jump and the explosion itself. They landed hard on the building a few floors below and to the side, Ozzy rolling across the pebbled ground and Thrax exhausted and unable to move. Both lay there still, showered with bits of building and a warm wash of heat.

Thrax opened his eyes to see his cell phone had fallen out of his trench coat, landing in front of his face. Blood dripped into his vision from yet another wound and he tried to blink it away as his trembling hand pressed the call button. He barely managed to select a contact before black enveloped him.

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_Ariadne looked up from her novel with a quirk in her brow, upset that someone would have the nerve to disturb her during reading time. With a sigh she put her bookmark between the two pages and shut it, placing it back on the crammed shelf before heading out of the living room into the hall. The dusted window prevented her from seeing who it was at the door, but a large shadow blocked most of the sun and her pulse quickened. Licking her lips, she hesitated before picking up a small handgun from the closet beside her, slipping it deftly up her sleeve._

_In her business, you could never be too careful. While the vast majority of her clients were pleased and paid for her services, some said she "Could have saved the arm!" or just straight out couldn't afford her prices. They came back with intentions to back out of the deal, and sometimes that meant killing her. It hadn't gotten that far yet, but she was wary. It was especially the case when her sister came over for extended periods of time. It was against the rules of her... employer to leave whenever she wanted. But her sister had never been good at following the rules. Ariadne unlocked the deadbolt and opened the door with a smile, only to let out a horrified gasp._

_Shar stood at the door with Thrax leaning heavily against her, one of his arms bent badly out of shape. Blood stained her doorstep as she moved out of the way, the gun dropping from her sweaty palms to the carpeted floor._

_"Take him. I need to get Ozzy. Ari, take him now!" Shar was impatient and scared, her eyes were wild. She was shaking badly and she put all of Thrax's weight onto Ariadne's shoulders before she could say anything. The medic watched the taller woman run back towards her stalling vehicle, her feet bare on the warm pavement. Ariadne was nearly bent in half from the weight, but she managed to get Thrax down the stairs after a grueling ten minutes. She was just getting him onto a bed when Shar came down the stairs in a rush, Ozzy in her arms. On any other occasion Ariadne would have made a joke about her being such a man, but in this case refrained. _

_"Shar, what happened to them?" She murmured, taking off Thrax's clothes cautiously. Blood had dried on them and made them sticky, and she grabbed a pocket knife to help her get them off. At this point she didn't care what happened to his clothes; she'd be damned if her best client died on her. She owed him everything. Shar was busy getting to work on Ozzy, who was still muttering in his sleep. She, being very used to getting clothes off of people, had him nude in seconds. After making sure he was comfy, she bumped Ariadne out of her place and began to do the honours for Thrax as well. Annoyed that the woman hadn't answered her question, she huffed but made her way to the sink to wash her hands. Behind her Shar began to sniffle, and she knew she was crying. _

_Ariadne bit her lip to keep from saying anything else, a nervous habit, and then turned towards the two men. "Shar, I..." she rested a hand on her shoulder, "I think you should leave for this part." The taller of the two nodded her head, raising a manicured hand to wipe her eyes. When she opened them again they were glassy and broken, "Please tell me you can fix it. Please." That said, she fled the room without another sound._

_Behind her, the medic steeled herself for the worst, and began to work._

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There was a beep again. Different this time. Familiar. Not like the one from the bomb.

He ached all over, and even though he wanted to open his eyes it seemed he was incapable. But he had to, and he did despite his fatigue.

Ozzy was staring up at a white ceiling, one of his eyes covered with gauze. His arms were heavy, and though there was only a thin sheet over his body he felt suffocated by heat. Blinking, he sighed and inhaled clean air with a soft smile. The room was cool and smelled sterile, though there was a faint whiff of leather and perfume. He knew where he was, and he didn't think he'd ever been happier to be somewhere.

"Ariadne," he croaked.

The short woman was there in a flash, bending over him to peer into his eyes. Her hands were still slightly damp and had obviously just been washed as she held a light up to his eye, and then the other, stopping only to check his pulse by hand. He tried a smile and found it was more of a grimace, so stopped altogether.

"Here, drink this; I bet you're thirsty."

Ozzy took the cup of water offered to him with a nod of thanks, drinking it down as though he'd wandered a desert for the past ten years. After two more, he was ready to talk, and tried to sit up. Ariadne propped him up on some pillows and gave him a pill to take. He didn't ask what it was, and took it without question. He wasn't eager to talk, and she didn't want to press him for details. Instead, she gave him his list of injuries.

"So you had no serious internal injuries, a few cracked ribs and a dislocated wrist. There's not much I can do about it except wrap it up and tell you not to do too much to irritate them. Otherwise it was just a few bruises." She prattled on about how he should walk to keep from putting too much pressure on his sprained ankle, and how to sleep at night to prevent any unnecessary pain in his chest. She presented him with two bottles of different pills and explained their function and why she gave them to him. It was very clear she was trying to avoid something, and by the tenth minute of non-stop speaking, Ozzy broke his silence.

"How is Thrax?"

Ariadne froze mid sentence, her lips pursing together and her eyes darkening. She looked at him instead of at the pill bottles in her lap, and when she spoke it was measured. "He's got a few broken ribs like you, and his arm was dislocated. There was also a-"

"Ariadne," he murmured, looking at her straight, "is he okay?"

She nodded her head, and in that instant Ozzy felt himself begin to cry.

Thrax was okay. He was alive. He was going to be okay. Ozzy wasn't sure why it was hitting him this hard, he had his own injuries to worry about. But Thrax had saved him and he owed him his life now. He had saved him when nobody else could. He had swooped in like the classic superhero, cape blazing and fists ready to pummel. The cop knew then, that this was far more than what he had originally thought. When he got back home, he'd call Reese and...

Reese.

His silent tears turned into an all out sob session, and he was suddenly furious.

Reese was dead. And it was Thrax's fault.

"That fucking bastard!"

Ariadne hadn't been expecting a reaction so violent, and she jumped to her feet and held him down as best she was able to prevent him from hurting himself more. "Ozzy, calm down! Ozzy!" She grunted and strained, but pushing alone was not enough. "Shar! Get in here!" Ozzy stopped before her sister could be of any help, simply falling into himself and curling up on the bed. His wounds screamed at him to stretch out, but he remained contorted, and blocked himself away from the world. Both women tried to talk to him, and each time he ignored them. It was Thrax's fault. If he hadn't of gotten Ozzy so mixed up with everything Reese would still be alive. And now, where was his body? Was it blown to pieces in the building? Of course. Nobody had thought to retrieve it. There would be nothing left but charred bones, if that at all. The crime lord could have hurried. He could have rushed. He'd seemed so nonchalant about the whole exchange before the first explosion; what if he meant for Reese to get killed the whole time? He was the only other one to know things about the gang besides Ozzy... who would now be an easy target.

He released another heart-wrenching sob before beginning to drift off to sleep.

Shar and Ariadne watched, both with expressions of sorrow. They couldn't do anything else to help. Whatever Ozzy decided to do next was his own choice, and nothing they said was going to stop him. Just like Thrax, who had left as soon as he woke up.

.

It was another three hours before Ozzy woke up again, this time refusing to speak at all. Gone was the feeling of elation at being alive, and left was a hollow shell of what he was before. Evening had come when Ariadne brought him some food, and then left him to himself. It was a small portion of steak and a large green salad, a small glass of milk and a larger glass of water accompanying it. Mechanically, he forced himself to eat, the hunger nearly consuming him. When he was done he curled up under the blanket again, staring into space and thinking.

He was still laying like that when someone entered the room, and he closed his eyes quickly to feign sleep. There was a soft clink as something was placed on the table beside his bed. Whoever it was stood beside his bed for a long time, and at one point Ozzy thought perhaps they'd left without him knowing. But then there was a breath beside his face, ghosting over his cheek. A kiss was placed on the corner of his mouth, short and chaste despite the obvious longing there. Breath again, this time by his ear, and then a whispered, "I love you."

Ozzy remained frozen, and the steps receded up the stairs. The door leading outside was opened and closed, leaving nothing but dead quiet. The cop opened his eyes, still paralysed from the event. He reached up to the bedside table and grabbed the metal object that had been placed there, dragging it down to eye level and staring at it. He closed his eyes tightly and clutched it to his chest as he again closed his eyes.

Reeses' badge.

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**A/N:** OKAY GUYS. ALMOST DONE. Sorry it's so short. D: Reviews darlings, pretty please. Please. lol Also, if it's too rushed or clipped, please tell me and I'll do an edit to it. I thought it was alright, but... I know it did a lot of skipping and it might be hard to follow. Just let me know!

Also, predict the end. 'Cause I'm curious. :P


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N:** Fluffy sadness guys. Fluffy sadness.

**Warning:** Swearing. References to prostitution.

Gae-ta: I'm glad I saved the day! *SWOOSH!*  
Darkdolly: Well done. Good assumptions. Maybe you're right, perhaps you're wrong. Who knows? ;)  
thewannabe: *bows* Thank you, thank you! Haha!  
Ashira21: You made me think of Ursula from the Little Mermaid with that line. Keep reading and maybe you'll get to see Variola get what's coming for him!  
PsychoPanda: Oh, I'm glad you didn't forget. I know you reviewed chapter 9, but I'm answering you here. :D I hope I didn't disappoint!  
CuteButTheDevil: Thanks for the review! I'll get on that VariolaXReese fic for you as soon as inspiration hits.  
Chaos145: Oh dear, I made you cry? D: :3 Well... I can't say I'm displeased. I'm glad I invoked such strong feelings. I hope you enjoy this next part!

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It had been a few days since Ozzy had seen Thrax. His days were spent with Ariadne, exercising his injured limbs and watching the news. Reese's death was the top story, and the reporter had gotten the main story right, if wrong on a few details. They said it was a drug trade gone wrong, and an two officers were caught in the crossfire. Variola had escaped of course, and nobody had seen hide nor hair of him since then. The police were still scouring the rubble for bodies, but after finding Reese their hope had dwindled.

Ozzy didn't have anywhere to go anymore. By now his things would have been put into storage, his apartment already rented out to someone else with a low budget. Reese was gone, and Drix would be coming back to Frank to fill out papers and get the funeral ready. Ozzy didn't know if he was going, didn't know if he could take it. There was so much going on inside his brain he found it hard to concentrate on daily tasks that before had been mechanical. Thrax swam through his brain like a virus on steroids, never far from his thoughts and dreams.

After that night, when he'd heard the confession, Ozzy didn't know what to do with himself. He hated Thrax for making him see things the way he did now; he hated him for making him unable to look in the mirror in the morning. It was like a bullet shot straight at his heart; he knew it was coming but was unable to stop it. He tried, screaming at his body to move, but his feet wouldn't obey his will. The bullet would pierce through his heart and he knew then, that no matter what the truth was there.

He loved Thrax too.

It wasn't the power the man had, or his looks, or even his personality. It was all of that wrapped up together in the individual that was Thrax. It was in the subtle shrug of his shoulders when he was frustrated, in the gentle quirk of his lips when he smirked. The gleam in his golden eyes when he thought of something naughty, the low rumble in his chest when he laughed. The small actions, positioning himself to be ready to fight or flee at any moment, the way he scanned the area for any dangers. The way he seemed to make the center of his world Ozzy and no one else.

There was an enticing draw for the cop to the criminal.

But inevitably, when opposites collide nothing good is created. When the irresistible force meets the immovable object, the only thing it brings is chaos. They could never be together. Already, so much had been destroyed and tainted by their relationship, if it could be called that. People got hurt, bystanders that had nothing to do with it at all. People didn't just get hurt. They died.

How could he knowingly bring that upon the world?

Thrax stood for everything Ozzy was designed to fight against. He was the truth where he was the lies, the justice where there was crime. Ozzy couldn't just deny everything that made him, well... _him_. Especially not for someone like Thrax, no matter how much he desired to love him.

It was with these thoughts in mind that Ozzy climbed the stairs to the house above the infirmary. Ariadne had left earlier to get some more supplies from the hospital; he didn't know if she paid them or stole, but he decided to turn a blind eye. He did owe her his health, on more than one occasion. More than that, he had recently discovered where he'd seen her before, or rather, where he thought he'd seen her. Shar and Ariadne were sisters, Shar being the oldest. They had the same face and dark hair, he didn't know how he'd missed it for so long. Shar had left earlier in the morning, claiming to have unfinished business somewhere. Ariadne had started packing up her things, books and kitchenware, blankets and clothes. Ozzy guessed they were moving; Shar obviously had a falling out with Variola. It wasn't safe to be in her line of work, especially if your ex-boss had let you in on secrets and privy information.

The cop slouched down into an armchair with a sigh, looking peering out the one-way transparent curtains. The cream color let the sun shine in brightly, contrasting his mood like alive and dead. Ariadne was supposed to be home at any moment, and Ozzy had a few questions about her relationship with Thrax now, and prior to when Ozzy wasn't involved at all. But when her car drove up and parked in the lot, he knew the conversation wasn't going to go the way he hoped. The short woman got out of the car and slammed the door shut, looking for all intent and purposes like a pissed off smurf. Her face was flushed and her delicate eyebrows descending over her eyes, and when the opposite side door opened Ozzy knew why.

Thrax got out of the car graceful as ever, looking into the window as though he knew Ozzy was staring back at him. The man was still injured, his arm tucked into a sling beneath his coat. The sleeve hung limp at his side, empty and swaying as he walked. A pinprick of concern poked into Ozzy's heart but he hushed the rising spark, daring it to ignite. Keys entered locks and then the room held three.

"Hey Ozzy, we're back." Ariadne smiled, very aware of the tension rapidly building up in the air.

Thrax closed the door with a loud 'click' and then looked at Ozzy. The cop let his gaze wander, not able to look him in the face. He was angry that Thrax could just say he loved him like that, and then expect Ozzy to say the same. It was self-centered and greedy. He cleared his throat, "Yeah, welcome back."

A small silence, Thrax still daring Ozzy to meet his eyes and remaining stoic. Ariadne shuffled nervously, and Ozzy dug his nails into the thick fabric of the chair. And then, it was all broken by the least likely of sources.

"You know what guys? Grow the fuck up."

Ariadne had turned on both of them, slamming her foot into the wooded floor. She waited until both men had guilty looks on their faces, eyes downcast before continuing her tirade.

"You are both acting like children! Man up! Grow a pair! Goddamn, I'm going to get that stuff from the car. I will take it out back and come in that way. I am going to put it all away. If you guys haven't made up in that amount of time, so help me God!" That said, she strode out the front door and slammed it shut. A picture frame fell off the wall with a clatter, glass shattering.

Ozzy flinched at the sound, but Thrax was slow to respond. The darker skinned man walked towards the broken frame with measured steps, his boots heavy on the floor. Kneeling, Ozzy watched out of the corner of his eye as the crime lord picked it up, standing with a harsh intake of breath. He looked at the picture in his hands with a face of pure nostalgia, and perhaps envy.

"I remember when this was taken. We were still in Russia at the time," he murmured, stroking the photo with the back of his thumb. Ozzy remained unmoved. Thrax shook his head, a small smile on his lips, "They'd just seen a lion for the first time. There was a circus in town, _Beezo's_, I think it was." He took on a pained look then, closing his eyes and whispering, "I wish they hadn't followed me home that day."

"What do you mean?" Ozzy heard himself asked, slightly appalled that he had broken his own silence so easily. He didn't ever know who was in the picture. He saw though, when Thrax walked over and handed it to him. Two girls stared up at him, one holding bright pink cotton candy, the other holding two pinwheels. They both had a crazy looking hat on, and both looked like they were having the time of their lives. Turning it over and being cautious of the glass shards, he saw written in thin black ink, _Shariana and Ariadne_, the date blurred from a finger smudge.

"I was just starting out. It was before things got... complicated," he tasted the word, not caring for it in the slightest. Unable to pin point his exact meaning, he continued, "It was a few days before my flight to North America. I was picking up a few things before I headed back to my hotel..."

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_._

_Snow fell through the air languidly, the chill freezing skin on contact and threatening to give frostbite. Thrax emerged from the bakery with a loaf of rye, baked fresh that morning. There were many things people didn't know about him, one of them being his secret adoration for rye bread. Unlike other breads it didn't leave a bad aftertaste or get stuck in your teeth. The texture was always soft for the first few days, and though it lost freshness quickly it seldom stayed around that long when in Thrax's possession. _

_He tore off a large piece, black gloved hands speckled with crumbs, and shifted his scarf down to eat. He had just sunk his teeth into it as he rounded the corner, something bowling into him with a great force. His sturdy frame was the only thing that kept him from falling, and on reflex he reached out to snatch whatever it was. The 'it' turned out to be a child, and he held her by the scruff of her shirt. Which was odd, seeing as it was extremely cold out. She looked up at him in fear, before worming her way out of his grip and dropping his wallet to the ground as she did. Her face was disappointed as she scurried off into an alley across the street, narrowly dodging a few cars. Irked that a kid would dare take his wallet, and even moreso by the fact that she had managed it, he scooped it up and put it in his pocket. Making sure to look both ways, he crossed the street in a jog, sleet splashing up around his feet and soaking his socks. _

_Cold began creeping up his legs as he peered around the corner, narrowing his eyes to try and see in the dark better. _

_"Hello?" _

_There was no answer, and an icicle on the dumpster fell and shattered on the wet pavement. Thrax advanced with caution, eyes scanning for any sign of danger. A small scuffle like the sound of fabric against ground caught his attention, and he whirled to look beside the large crates to his left. What he saw made his heart ache._

_Two girls identical in every way. They were children, barely ten years old if he had any guess to give. The taller of the two had her skinny arms wrapped tightly around the shorter, glaring at him through glassy eyes. Her lower lip trembled from cold and fear, and the child in her arms held onto her for dear life. Neither had a jacket, and the smaller was the only one with shoes. Their clothes were ratty and tattered, and they looked as though they had bathed in grime. _

_"Hey," he said gently, crouching down as best he could, "did you try and take my wallet just now?" _

_He knew it was her of course, but if it would get her to talk it was a step in the right direction. She blinked and stared at him angrily, turning herself so that the other girl was farther out of reach.  
_

_"_I don't do that_," she spat in Russian, her eyes darkening. Thrax raised an eyebrow in question, shifting a little on his feet. "_Don't do what?_"_

_Her eyes widened, surprised at the change from English to her native tongue. Shaking it off quickly, she gestured with her chin to his pants, trying to keep her face impassive and failing. She was scared. _

_It took Thrax a moment, but when he understood what she was getting at, he became furious. It must have shown on his face because both girls flinched, and the smaller began to cry into her sisters shirt. Licking his dry lips, Thrax stood and took off his scarf and leather gloves, crouching again and moving to hand them over. The girl glanced at the clothes and then back up uncertainly._

_"_It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you,_" he tried a smile, "_You can have these._" She took them after another moments hesitation, wrapping the scarf around both of them together and sighing at the warmth from Thrax's body heat. The gloves she slipped on the other girls hands, hiding her own beneath the scarf. She looked at him with bright green eyes then, full of youth and an unbreaking spirit that Thrax knew he had to help. "Thank you." _

_They were the only English words she knew, and in that moment they were enough._

_._

* * *

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"After that they came with me to the hotel. I bought them some clothes and they stayed with me. I extended my stay for another few years, and then moved us here."

Thrax had moved to sit on the chair adjacent to Ozzy, who had sat back in his and tried to sink in it. Of course it had to be something tragic like that. Fuck. But he would stand firm in his decision, he couldn't afford to feel bad for hating him. Despite that, he cleared his throat and dared to ask, "How did Shar get involved with Variola?"

It was the first time he'd said the name in a while. It tasted foul on his tongue and he felt the urge to rinse his mouth out. But Thrax just shook his head, resting it on his hand and looking at nothing in particular.

"After a few years of being in Frank, they decided to cut themselves off from me and be independent. They felt like they owed me enough. They wouldn't listen. Ariadne was still young when Shar became a prostitute; all the money she made went to rent and saving up for her sister. Ariadne still doesn't know where all the money came from, unless she found out recently."

Ozzy nodded and put the photo on the table, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. Neither said anything more for a time, and the cop wasn't keen on breaking the silence. He leaned forward and rested on his hands, elbows on his knees.

Thrax watched him carefully, looking for any sign of a flight response. He knew he had to play his cards carefully. Ozzy was a ticking time bomb not unlike the one they had narrowly escaped from. He loved him, he wanted him to be with him always. Thrax was a greedy man, he knew that himself; he always got what he wanted. For now though, he decided on a cautious approach.

"Ozzy?"

The cop grunted, not looking up from the floor.

"I want to ask you something."

Silence.

"But before I do I need to tell you something."

Not a word. Thrax swallowed the lump in his throat, startled to find his heart beating rapidly.

"I want you to stay with me."

Ozzy looked up then, his eyes narrowed. He refrained from speaking, waiting for Thrax to finish. The darker of the two looked hesitant for a minute, and then steeled himself to speak the words he knew he had to.

"Will you come with me to Russia?"

There was another pause, and this time Ozzy broke it. A grin broke out on his face, and he jumped to his feet. He laughed, spinning in circles before rounding on the sitting man, his next words dripping with deadly sarcasm.

"Of fucking course I will! Of course I will, Thrax! Let me just call in to work and let them know," he paused to take a breath, "and let them know that I'm running off to a different country with a crime lord!" He ran his fingers through is hair, scratching at his facial hair as he dragged his nails down in frustration. He paced for a minute, and then snarled, "I will never go anywhere with you."

Thrax stood, unwilling to hear anymore. He strode towards Ozzy and slammed him up against the wall, staring down into his eyes. The cop found himself shocked to see genuine hurt there in the golden depths, a sorrow he thought the man incapable of. And then lips were on his, not demanding or hard, but soft and gentle and so full of love he thought it might spill over the brim. Thrax tasted like he always did, of spice and pure, molten warmth.

Ozzy did not return the favour.

Thrax pulled away, reaching up to stroke Ozzy's cheek with the back of his hand. His eyes drifted to the mans lips and then back up, hopeful. But when his desire held firm in the negative, he turned away.

Ariadne walked in from the kitchen in that moment, to see Thrax with his head low and Ozzy trying his best not to cry. She kept quiet, but had already been seen, and the crime lord walked towards her with heavy steps. Each footfall got farther from Ozzy, who wanted so badly to tell him to come back. He kept his mouth shut and bit his tongue, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. He watched Thrax stop beside Ariadne, both exchanging a look.

"All I wanted," he said softly to her, "was to be the reason for the smile on his face." She turned her head to the side, opening her mouth to speak; he continued. "I didn't think I would get a chance at being happy in this life, not after you and Shar," he smiled sadly, "and now I know it's true."

That said, he strode out the door.

"Wait, Thrax! Hey!" Ariadne ran after him, tripping on her feet and managing to catch the door before it slammed shut, "Thrax!"

Ozzy closed his eyes and slid down the wall, trying to block everything out. The sound of tires screeching against pavement, of Ariadne's begging voice, of Thrax's words from last night.

_"I love you."_

His heart clenched with words he could never say.

_Come back, I love you too. I want you in my life. Thrax, come back. Please come back._

Tears threatened.

_I love you too._

_._

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**A/N:** Alrighty. I did as you asked; I have managed to turn a few more chapters into a few more. As a result, this one is a bit shorter by a thousand words. The rest might be, but it also means I can crank them out faster. Love you guys! Keep reviewing!

Let's get to 50 before the end. We can do it!


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